


Fractured Moonlight

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Rewritten in Time [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Timelines, Dementors (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Drama, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 103,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco traveled back in time to fix the past. It's harder than he thought. There are fixed points in time, insane best friends (one who seems to have learned teleportation), talking hats named Sherlock, and a convict who keeps breaking into the Slytherin dorms confusing everyone. Year three promises to be exciting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape From Surrey

_A/N: It’s here! The third story to the_ Rewritten in Time _series. If you’re new here, I highly suggest you read_ Regrets Collect Like Old Friends _and_ History Keeps Pulling _— but at the end of the day, it is up to you._

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Harry Potter hadn’t meant to blow up his aunt. Not that she was actually his aunt. She was Vernon Dursley’s sister, thus no actual relation to Harry. Narcissa Malfoy (who Harry called Aunt Narcissa) was more so his aunt than Aunt Marge, and Aunt Narcissa was technically his second cousin blank times removed. 

Or something.

Either way, Harry had not meant to blow up Aunt Marge into a floating, bloated balloon and set her loose over Surrey.

Harry sat down heavily on the curb, dropping the handle of his trunk he’d dragged from the Dursley’s home on Privet Drive. 

Nothing had gone right since the summer holidays had begun. Within a matter of hours after arriving home, Harry was informed of Aunt Marge’s arrival and that he went to a school for criminal boys. Tragically, then Marge arrived and all Harry’s so called freakishness had to be hidden, so no letters from his friend via Hedwig. This also meant he couldn’t do his homework as his trunk was locked in the cupboard under the stairs. Harry was not bothered by this, as he knew his sentence at Privet Drive was only two weeks long before he’d be able to go to the Malfoy’s for the remainder of summer break. 

Harry began to count down the days till he could leave. He was only one day short of the two week prison sentence when he’d failed at life and caused Aunt Marge to inflate. 

Aunt Marge thought it was simply marvelous to have Harry at her beck and call so she could point out his freakishness to him, as if he had failed to notice it before. Harry was hanging by a very thin thread by the time she decided it’d be wise to insult his parents. 

Harry went off like an atom bomb. He could only be pushed so far. He was only human. Granted, he was a magical human being, but human nonetheless. 

Kicking a stone, Harry sighed deeply. He knew the Ministry would notice the fact Harry had blown up his aunt and she was currently bobbing above the houses in Surrey. Last year when the Malfoy’s former House Elf Dobby had done magic, the Ministry had noticed and sent him a letter. The letter for this time more than likely had arrived by now. And this time, there was no Lucius Malfoy to show up and pull strings or throw gold around at the Ministry to erase Harry’s misdeed. This time, also, was actually Harry’s fault. 

Harry had to face the music for his crime of underage magic. It was his fault and no one was going to swoop down and save him.  

Heaving a sigh, Harry stood up to head back to Privet Drive. The moment he was on his feet, a sinking sensation began in his stomach and continued till his toes began to curl. Just thinking about dealing with the Ministry and his relatives made Harry sick. 

What if they forgot they had forgiven him for the Dobby Incident? Harry had never actually _checked_ to see if Mr Malfoy had cleared it up. He said he did, but did Harry trust him? 

No.

So, this might be his second infraction per the Ministry. 

That settled it. 

Harry wasn’t going back to the house. He’d make his own way. Luckily his father wasn’t a useless drunk as Aunt Marge had insisted. Harry’s father had been a rich man— rich enough not to have to work. Harry’s vault was filled with gold and now that he no longer had to pay for school, he could use that money to make his own way in the world. 

With his plan forming in his mind, Harry turned away from Privet Drive and picked up his trunk again, dragging it towards the park. He knew at this time of night, no one would be there and it’d be safe for him to perform some magic to make his trunk feather light and get his broom out. He’d fly to London and wait till the morning to visit Gringgots. 

He arrived at the park and let his trunk drop with a solid sounding _thunk_. He flipped the lid open after unlocking it and began to hunt for his wand. Upon finding his wand, Harry stuck it into his pocket. He began to hunt around for his broom when he heard a noise. Slowly, Harry peered up over the lid of his trunk. It was too dark to see anything. Straightening up, he closed his trunk and pulled out his wand. Since he was already in trouble for underaged magic, Harry didn’t think twice before he whispered, “ _Lumos_.” 

His wand lit up on command and illuminated the alley across the way from him. What he saw caused his insides to freeze. Across from him was the largest dog Harry had ever seen. It was black and had the creepiest eyes— they looked like ghosts they were such a light shade of grey. If the eyes weren’t enough to scare Harry, the fact the dog had matted, tangled fur and was skeletal thin kind of freaked him out more. The dog looked like some sort of monster one would find in a horror film.

Gasping, Harry took a step backwards, not realizing he’d stepped into the street to see the dog better. He tripped over the curb, his wand hand flying up for a moment before crashing down to brace his fall. Pain seared through his palms as he hit the concrete, but he was distracted from that by the appearance of a huge, bright purple triple decker bus. Harry scurried to get to his feet, moving to peek around the bus to see if the dog was still there.

It was not. 

Blinking hard, he checked again. 

Dog still not there.

Harry shook his head, turning his attention to the pimply young man who was peering at him.

“What choo lookin’ at?” he asked, looking around the bus. “Nothin’ there.”

“I know. There was a dog,” Harry replied, flattening his hair. 

“Well, choo called?”

“I did?”

“Yes. Choo waved your wand hand, didn’t choo?”

“Oh, I guess I did,” Harry quickly covered. 

This bus was clearly a wizarding bus— a mode of transportation Draco had failed to mention to Harry. More than likely because the Malfoys didn’t take buses. Buses were much too mundane and common for the Malfoys. Glancing at the bus again, Harry noticed gold lettering over the windshield that spelled _The Knight Bus_. 

“Oi! I need to do my spiel,” the man exclaimed. 

“Oh, right,” Harry quickly said, moving to stand in front of the man wearing the purple uniform. 

Said man, threw his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. He began speaking, forming the words perfectly and in an almost completely different manner than he’d been speaking before. 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor this evening.”

“Brilliant. Can you take me to the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Sure. Let me get yur trunk,” Stan said, moving to grab the trunk. “Woss your name?”

“Neville Longbottom,” Harry quickly lied, saying the first name that popped into his head. Why he was thinking about Neville was beyond him. Harry flattened his fringe over his forehead, hoping it’d remain in place to cover his blasted scar. 

“It’ll cost you eleven sickles to get to London,” Stan said as he followed Harry onto the bus, dragging the trunk onboard. “For firteen you get ‘ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an ‘ot water bottle an’ a toofbrush in the color of your choice.”

Stan set the trunk next to one of the dozen brass beds that stood on either side of the bus instead of seats. The windows even had curtains matching the beds. It was the most bizarre bus Harry had ever been on. The bus wasn’t a bus, but rather a dorm room, complete with wood paneled walls and candles in brackets on the walls. Harry rooted around in his trunk for his bag of money. As he pulled it out, he heard someone mutter, “Not now, thanks, I’m pickling some slugs.”

Looking to his left he saw one of the beds contained a tiny wizard who was clearly sleeping. Harry took the money out and shoved it into Stan’s hand. Stan did something with the money, then shoved Harry’s trunk under the bed they were standing near. Harry watched Stan disappear and return with Hedwig’s empty cage, which he handed to Harry. Taking it, Harry sat down on the bed. 

“This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Neville Longbtoom, Ern.”

The driver looked older than dirt and was wearing extremely thick glasses that caused his eyes to look ten times larger than normal. The driver turned in his seat and peered at Harry. Harry flattened his fringe. 

“Take ‘er away, Ern,” Stan said, flopping down in an armchair next to Ernie. 

“Ar.”

Harry was not prepared for what happened next. There was another loud BANG and Harry flew backwards. He was flat on the bed he was seated on, staring at the ceiling through Hedwig’s cage, which had found its way to his face. He pulled himself up with some difficulty, spitting out feathers from his mouth and dusted off whatever else had gotten all over his face from the cage. He didn’t want to think about it. Before the bus made another jerky movement, Harry grabbed onto the bed frame in order to look out the window. 

They weren’t speeding through the streets of London, but in fact a totally different street in what appeared to be the country. Harry looked back towards Stan to find the young man thoroughly enjoying Harry’s stunned reaction. 

“This is where we was before you flagged us down. Somewhere in Wales, right, Ern?”

“Ar,” was the only noise Ernie made.

“How comes the Muggles don’t hear this bus?” Harry asked.

“Them! Don’t listen properly, do they? Or look properly. Never nothing nuffink.”

“Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan,” Ernie said, expanding his vocabulary. “We’ll be in Abergavenny soon.”

Stan frowned, but stood up and disappeared up a narrow wooden staircase. Harry watched Ernie drive and began to worry. The man had clearly not mastered the use of the steering wheel. As Harry watched out the front of the bus, the bust mounted the sidewalk a few times, yet never hit anything. After a moment of this insane driving, Harry realized objects such as trashcans, mailboxes, and lampposts were jumping out of the way of the Knight Bus. 

“‘Ere you go, Madam Marsh,” Stan was saying happily as he came down stairs with a faintly green witch. She did not look thrilled. Especially when Ernie hit the breaks and everyone pitched forward. Harry flew off his bed, landing on the floor. By the time Harry had picked himself up, there was another loud BANG and Harry, once again, careened backwards, banging his head on the bed frame. 

He had no idea where the cage had gone. 

Rubbing his head, Harry stared out the window and got lost in his own thoughts on his predicament watching trees and bins leap out of the way of the bus. If he did wind up in prison, or worse, at least he’d experienced this. While it was a bit unsettling for his stomach, Harry liked it a bit better the Flooing and a lot better than Apperation. 


	2. Of Vampires and Green Bowlers

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Stan unfurling what sounded like a newspaper caught Harry’s attention and jerked him out of his own head. Harry gasped when he caught sight of the photo on the front page. It was huge and took up almost the whole front page. That was not what caused Harry to gasp, though. Nor was the state the man in the photo was in. No, what got Harry’s attention was the fact he’d seen the same image on the Muggle news the day before.

“That man was on the Muggle news. What’s he doing on the front page of the wizarding paper?” Harry asked, forgetting his troubles for a moment. 

The photo blinked slowly at Harry. 

Stan looked at the front page and chuckled. 

Harry’s eyes and brain finally read the headline: Sirius Black Still At Large.

Harry felt his stomach drop out and it wasn’t from the bus ride. Harry knew that name and that was not the image he’d had in his head since Draco had told him Sirius Black was his godfather. 

“‘Course he’s been on the Muggle news, Neville, where choo been?”

“Under a rock,” Harry replied, staring at the man on the front page. He had long, matted hair and waxy sunken cheeks. 

Black looked like a deranged mad man, only he was eerily calm in his wizard photo. The still shot the Muggles had was a lot more chilling than the moving version. 

“Ya oughta read more papers under your rock then, Neville.”

Stan handed Harry the paper. Harry held the paper closer to the candlelight and stared at his godfather. Gulping, he wondered why Draco hadn’t found a way to tell Harry the man had escaped from a high security prison. According to the Muggle news the man had been on the loose for a few days. And he had a gun. But, no name or location he escaped from. This had upset Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to no end. 

Harry doubted Sirius Black had a gun. Harry doubted Black would know how to use one if he had it.

He could have a wand. And he’d know how to use that.  

Moving his eyes passed the large photo, Harry read: 

**_SIRIUS BLACK STILL AT LARGE_ **

_Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today._

_“We’re doing all we can to recapture Black,” said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, “and we beg the magical community to remain calm.”_

_Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis._

_“Well, really, I had to, don’t you know,” said an irritable Fudge. “Black is mad. He’s a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister’s assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black’s true identity to anyone. And let’s face it— who’d believe him if he did?”_

_While Muggles have been told Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal stick Muggles use to kill each other) the magical community now lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse. (Story continues on 4B.)_

Harry looked back at the photo. The shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, stared back at him and they seemed alive all of a sudden. Closely studying the man his parents had trusted above anyone else, Harry thought the man looked a lot like what Muggles thought vampires looked like. He half expected the picture to shout, “I vant to drink your blood!”

“Scary lookn’ fing, innee?” Stan asked, jerking Harry’s attention back to the present. 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, handing the paper back to Stan. Harry sunk backwards on the bed, staring into space. 

Harry had tried hard not to think about Sirius Black, no matter how much Draco talked about the guy. Sirius Black’s innocence and a rat that belonged to Weasley— those were Draco’s favorite topics when things were calm and he got bored. Granted, in the past year Harry hadn’t heard so much as a peep about his godfather, but if Harry ever saw Draco again, he knew Draco would be spouting off about the man’s innocence and his crazy theory that Weasley’s rat was an Animagi. 

Hermione scoffed this idea, as she’d looked up all registered ones their first year at some point and there were no rats. Or a man named Peter Pettigrew. According to Mr Remus, Pettigrew was dead— killed by Sirius Black with one curse. Atlanta had relayed this information during one of Draco’s outbursts last summer. Mr Remus was Atlanta’s tutor before she had started at Hogwarts, though Harry guessed he’d taken the post up again after her time traveling accident last year left her thinking she was two different people. 

Harry wondered if Draco had ever brought up his crazy theory about the rat to Mr Remus.

Harry also wondered if Atlanta was going to return to Hogwarts this year or not. Not that Harry would see her, as he was likely to be expelled and on the run from the Ministry for inflating Aunt Marge into the Hindenburg.  

“They fink he’s after ‘Arry Potter.”

Harry startled again, blinking stupidly at Stan. “What? Why?”

“Well, ‘Arry Potter finished You-Know-‘Oo. After he did, all You-Know-Oo’s supporters was tracked down, wasn’t they? Most of ‘em knew it was the end, but not Sirius Black. I ‘eard he thught ‘e’d be second-in-command once You-Know-Oo ‘ad taken over, but that didn’t work out for ‘im ,did it? 

“Anyway, now that he’s out, I bet he wants to finish the job he started out to do before he was caught. Or the job his master started. That’s what the Ministry finks. Black’s after ‘Arry Potter.”

Harry curled up into himself on the bed. The Knight Bus rolled through the darkness, scattering bushes and trashcans, telephone booths and trees. As the night dragged by, Stan and Ernie tried a few times to get Harry to talk, but Harry decided it was best to pretend to be asleep. 

He was a criminal now. He’d blown up his aunt. Soon, Stan and Ernie would be talking about him, not Sirius Black. Harry was going to be locked up like his godfather. 

“Right then, Neville. Up you at choo,” Harry heard Stan call, clapping his hands together. “We ‘ere.”

Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes. Sure enough, they were parked outside the Leaky Cauldron. Harry took a deep breath and grabbed Hedwig’s cage. He noted the sun was beginning to rise. He had a few hours to kill before Gringotts would open and he could get his gold and begin his life as an outcast, a criminal on the run. 

Maybe he could find Sirius Black and let the man kill him? Or, if Draco’s insane theory was correct, they could live together as convicts on the run?

Shaking his head of his crazy ideas, Harry jumped down the steps. He turned to help Stan with the trunk. 

“Harry!”

Harry froze. He knew that voice.

“There you are, Harry,” said another voice.

Dropping the trunk, Harry turned to find himself pressed against something soft and warm that smelled vaguely of something expensive and flowery. Arms crushed around him.

“Oh, you’re all right. You’re all right,” the woman gushed. She pulled back, kneeling down to get a better look at him. Harry stared back at her, blinked dumbly as she smoothed his hair down and squeezed his arms a few times as her eyes scanned him. 

“Blimy! Ern! Come ‘ere!”

“Oh, you gave us such a fright,” Narcissa Malfoy went on, fussing over Harry.

Harry continued to blankly stare at her. 

“What didja call Neville, Minister?” Stan asked, sounding excited.

Harry finally tore his eyes off of Aunt Narcissa and looked to find the Minister of Magic standing next to him, wearing a long, pinstriped cloak, a lime green bowler hat on his head. Harry looked back at Aunt Narcissa to find her wearing a cloak as well, but her hair was not in its usual smooth chignon. It was loose and hanging around her shoulders. It appeared she’d also run out of the house in her night clothes. 

“Neville? That’s Harry Potter,” Fudge announced, frowning at Stan. 

“Neville?” Aunt Narcissa asked, peering at Harry. Harry shrugged, still not sure what was going on. 

Aunt Narcissa slowly stood up, keeping her hand tightly on Harry’s shoulder. 

“I knew it! Ern! Ern! Guess ‘oo Neville is! ‘E’s ‘Arry Potter! I can see ‘is scar.”

Harry flattened his hair down as he felt the cold, disapproving look Aunt Narcissa was shooting at Stan. 

“Minister, if all is well, I’d like to take Harry home,” Aunt Narcissa announced, causing Fudge to turn his attention to her. 

“Oh, yes, well, I’m glad the Knight Bus picked Harry up,” Fudge said to Stan, then turned to Narcissa. “I need to speak to Harry; we can just step into the Leaky Cauldron.” 

Harry half expected her to say no, but she curtly nodded and steered Harry into the bar. Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord appeared and dragged Harry’s things in.

“Will you be wanting anything? Beer? Brandy?”

“A pot of tea, perhaps,” Fudge offered, motioning to a table. 

Aunt Narcissa let go of Harry so he could sit down and gracefully lowered herself next to him. She kept glancing at Harry as if she was afraid he was going to vanish. Harry shifted, feeling nervous and anxious. And slightly embarrassed by Aunt Narcissa’s fussing. 

“Now, Harry, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Fudge began. “I am Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.” 

Harry knew this already, having seen the man while hiding under his father’s Invisibility Cloak while he and Draco were in Hagrid’s hut, but he wasn’t about to admit that. 

Tom the innkeeper appeared with a tray of tea and set it down next to Aunt Narcissa’s elbow. She took the pot and without a second thought, served the table tea. 

“Well, Harry, you gave us all a fright tonight, running away from your aunt and uncle’s house like that! We’d started to think…”

Fudge trailed off as Aunt Narcissa sniffed. Harry wasn’t sure what they thought would— oh, Sirius Black was on the loose and after him. He glanced at Aunt Narcissa, who Harry had an inkling felt similar to Draco on the matter of Sirius Black and his so called association with Voldemort. Harry wasn’t sure why she was acting upset, unless it was a rouse. Or she was just upset he had technically run away. 

Harry felt a wave of shame wash over him suddenly. Why didn’t he just go to the Malfoy’s? Since meeting Narcissa Malfoy, she had made it clear she cared for him. She mothered him almost as much as she mothered Draco. 

Harry hung his head, face turning red. 

“But, you’re safe now and that is what matters, correct?” Fudge asked. Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “You will be pleased to know we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing up of Miss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the Accident Magic Reversal Squad were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago. Miss Dursley has been punctured and her memory modified. She has no recollection of the incident at all. So, no harm done.”

Fudge smiled. Harry gaped at the man, while Aunt Narcissa scoffed quietly into her tea cup. Fudge looked at a loss for a moment. 

“I bet you’re worried about your aunt’s and uncle’s reaction,” Fudge tried, looking out of his depth. “Well, they were very angry, I won’t deny, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays.”

“I never want to go back to Privet Drive,” Harry announced. 

“I’m sure you’ll feel differently when you calm down,” Fudge said, his tone worried. “They are your family.”

Harry scowled. 

“Minister,” Aunt Narcissa interrupted. “I think Harry is more worried about breaking the Decree for the Restriction of Underaged Wizardy.”

“Oh! It’s all fixed,” Fudge said, waving a crumpet. “It was an accident after all. We don’t send people to Azkaban for blowing up their aunts.”

“Last year I got an official warning because the Malfoy’s House Elf smashed a pudding in my uncle’s house,” Harry reminded Fudge.

“Darling, that was cleared from your record,” Aunt Narcissa reminded him. “It wasn’t you.”

“Oh,” Harry said, looking at Aunt Narcissa. She gave him a reassuring look. Harry turned back to the minister. “So, I’m not going to be expelled?”

“No!” Fudge all but shouted at him. “We all loose our tempers. You’ll just, well, need to learn to control yourself in the future. We’re just glad you’re safe.” 

Harry glanced at Aunt Narcissa who nodded. Harry turned to the minister and nodded at him. “I will, sir. Sorry.”

Fudge tutted. 

“Well, Minister, I believe Harry and I will be on our way. I thank you for finding him and allowing the matter to be dropped,” she offered graciously, standing up. She smoothed her robes down, looking down at Harry. “Harry, come along.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” she replied, a small smile on her lips. “We’ll Floo.”

“All right. Well, do keep a close eye on him. In the current climate…” 

Harry looked to find Fudge spinning his lime bowler in his hands. Aunt Narcissa nodded, pulling her wand out. She waved it and Harry’s belongings flew to her. Tom appeared with a pot and extended it. Aunt Narcissa and Harry took a pinch of powered and shouted, “Malfoy Manor!” 

In a wink of an eye, they were gone.


	3. Fixed Furry Point

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Draco had never been so thankful to wake up to a face full of Harry Potter. 

“I blew up my aunt,” Harry proclaimed the moment Draco opened his eyes. 

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, voice laced with sleep and attempting to push the green eyed menace out of his face. 

“She blew up like a balloon. Then I ran off. But the Knight Bus picked me up. Let me tell you, don’t ride it. It’s horrible. Jerks all over the place. Kind of like being shoved in the washer without the water. Muggles know how to do travel. The magical community might travel faster, but each method is very…unpleasant,” Harry babbled as if he was doped up on too much Pepper Up potion. “Your mum picked me up from the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Of course she did,” Draco muttered. “Mind getting out of my face, oh, Insane One?” 

Harry laughed, falling over backwards. He began to babble more about his adventure till he got to the part where he saw that Sirius Black had escaped from jail. 

Draco had forgotten about that. The morning the news had broken, he had been thrilled Sirius had done it again. He’d also wondered why his mother was smiling. He’d been about to ask her when she announced she was going to Diagon Alley and left without another word.

“This is the guy who is my godfather, right?” Harry asked, bouncing at the end of the bed while Draco struggled to free himself from his blankets. 

“Yes.”

“And you are the one who thinks for some odd reason he’s innocent of the crimes he’s been in jail for?” Harry asked, a careful tone in his voice. Draco paused in his battle with the blankets, narrowing his eyes. Harry looked serious and announced, “I think he’s a vampire.”

Draco choked, sputtered and fell out of bed in a heap of blankets. Harry fell off the bed backwards, landing with a loud thud. 

“A vampire? Where did you get that idea from, Potter?” Draco demanded, standing up and trying to regain some dignity. He straightened his sleeping shirt out and stalked into the toilet. 

“Have you seen the photo they’re using?” Harry asked loudly over the noise of running water. “He looks like Dracula. You do know who that is, right?”

Draco exited the bathroom, heading for his closet. 

“Of course, I know who he is. He’s the Lord of Transylvania. Has been since the early 1400s,” Draco reported. “Do you even skim the History of Magic book?”

“Wait, he’s real?” Harry asked, bewildered.

Draco snorted, throwing clothes on. He stalked out of the closet to find a confused looking Harry Potter grappling with the concept someone he thought was a literary fictional character was in fact real. 

“In a word you use sometimes: duh,” Draco drawled. 

Harry blinked slowly a few times. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Say _duh_. It’s…wrong,” Harry admitted. “Who else is real?”

“Who else do you think is fictional?” Draco sweetly asked.

Harry gave him a look and sighed. “Fine. We’ll leave that topic for later. When I’ve got Hermione and know you’re not trying to pull one over on me.”

“When have I ever done that?”

“I’m looking into the Dracula thing.”

Draco put his hands up in defeat, a grin on his face as Harry continued to give him looks out of the corner of his eye. 

“Anyways,” Harry said, turning around and picking up something off Draco’s desk. “Why does everyone think Sirius Black is after me? Because Marv was in league with him?”

“Marv?”

“Voldemort.”

“You’re calling him Marv now?”

“Marvolo. His middle name. And we both know he hates his given first name so he made up that ridiculous name of Voldemort. Marv is just as silly, but it’s only shortening his middle name. I’m calling him Marv from now on,” Harry explained, sounding oh so logical. “Oh. I came up here to wake you for breakfast. We ought to eat. Oh! Then your mum said we have the whole day to ourselves. I guess this summer we’re not going to be dragged around to social events. Have you heard from Atlanta?”

Draco blinked and said, “Coffee. I need coffee.”

Harry gave him a strange look that Draco chose to ignore. He pushed passed the way to awake Harry and stalked off to the dining room where he was sure he could sneak a cup of coffee without his mother noticing. She was under the delusion he was too young to drink coffee. He was thirteen physically, but mentally he was in his twenties. 

He thought. Draco was never sure how old he actually was any more mentally. Time travel was rather confusing at the end of the day, something Draco was learning to accept— along with the impossible fixed points that kept throwing Draco Malfoy for a loop. Since traveling back in time to re-do his school years and aid Harry Potter in thwarting Lord Voldemort AKA Marv, Draco had thrown smelly water on a professor possessed by Marv, tried multiples times over the course of an entire school year to steal a diary from an eleven-year-old girl and spent almost two hours after the defense professor accidentally Obliviated himself trying to convince the man Draco did not live in a caved in, underground corridor. 

Draco wasn’t sure if he was better off having traveled into the past, but then he looked to his right and saw the short, black haired, emerald eye boarder line mad boy and Draco knew he was better off now. Draco had friends. He was smiling, generally happy and while he could do without the crazy, life endangering adventures Harry brought along, Draco wouldn’t change a thing. 

Well, except all the things he was trying to change in order to prevent Lord Voldemort from winning and Harry dying at the end of the day. 

* * *

The morning Narcissa Malfoy decided to take the boys to Diagon Alley, was the morning the Firebolt went on sale. Having gotten ahold of one of Draco’s Quidditch magazines, Harry had been talking about nothing except the Firebolt for the past two weeks. It was no surprise the moment they entered the shopping alley, Harry shot forward towards the Quidditch supply store.

“Harry!” Narcissa called after him. 

Harry came to a stumbling halt, turning around and looking like a kicked puppy.  

“What did I tell you?”

“No running off,” Harry replied, sighing deeply. 

Draco noticed his mother’s eyes darted around. She had an audience, of course. The wizarding world was one that lived for rumors and gossip, so everyone knew what Lucius had done in regards to blackmailing the board of governors and causing something to possess Ginny Weasley, forcing her to attack fellow students. Everyone also knew Narcissa had sent Lucius to France. While she had said it was only for the summer, it was now looking like Lucius was moving to France for the rest of his natural life.  

Sometimes, over the summer, Draco would look at his mother and wonder who she was. She did not resemble the woman Draco had known to be his mother. Her deviation in character had only begun when Draco had dragged Harry Potter into his life, so Draco assumed it was his fault his mother was acting…well, not like the woman he remembered. 

This was fine with Draco. The last year of his life before his choosing to relive his past, his mother was scared, frightened and desperate. And really pissed off behind closed doors at her husband for landing them in the mess they’d found themselves in. During Easter break when the Golden Trio had been captured, the woman revealed was one Draco did not care to see ever again. 

He liked this stronger, calmer, just as loving and smothering version he was dealt with in this round. This version also didn’t seem as…bigoted against Muggleborns. It was such a drastic change, Draco wondered if his mother actually held those beliefs or she just was pretending for the sake of appearance. 

“Draco, you and Harry can go look at the broom. Meet me at Flourish and Blotts in an hour,” she said firmly, piercing them both with a look. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry replied, still channeling a kicked, furry animal.

“Yes, Mother,” Draco answered, looking like the model pureblood child.

She smiled (for a second it looked like she was going to laugh), glared around at the people eavesdropping (who all went about looking busy), then walked off to buy their supplies. Harry watched her leave with a small frown on his face. 

“She didn’t seem too bothered by the Black thing,” Harry whispered. “You know? She hasn’t said anything about watching out for him or making me…well, stay in sight. You know, she’s…well, er….”

Draco did know what Harry was attempting to get at, so he nodded to put the poor kid out of his misery. Narcissa Malfoy was a one to smother and hover in her attempt to protect, yet she was not doing this. 

She’d never really done that since Harry had appeared, though. 

“I think she was just putting on a show for the masses. Making it look like she thought Sirius Black would leap out at you at any given moment in a crowded street,” Draco offered. “Hence the, er, telling off we just got.” 

“Why does she seem to agree with you that he’s innocent? I thought you said she didn’t like him. And if she thinks he’s innocent, why’s she not doing anything to help him. If he’s really innocent, shouldn’t we do something?”

Do something. Harry always wanted to do something when someone was in trouble. Draco ran a hand through his hair and nudged Harry with his shoulder to start walking towards Quality Quidditch Supplies. 

“We’re thirteen. And he did escape from jail,” Draco whispered in a low tone. “And my father put us in a delicate position after his little stunt with the board of govenors. We can’t exactly go off and help an escape convict.”

Harry grunted. 

They reached the Quidditch Supply Store where a crowd was gathering, all admiring the broom in the front window. 

Draco would love to own a Firebolt. He’d been extremely jealous when Potter (the one he’d left behind in the past slowly cooling after being killed by Voldemort) had turned up with one after loosing his other broom to the Whomping Willow. 

Oh. That was scheduled to happen this year— if it was a fixed event. Draco glanced over at Harry, who had elbowed his way to the window and was pressing his nose to the glass in order to drool over the broom. 

“It says price on request,” Harry grumbled a half hour later when Draco had managed to drag him away from the window. “I bet it costs loads.”

Harry pouted for a moment. 

“Harry, you have a perfectly operational broom,” Draco intoned. “Just think, if you happen to break, loose, or have something unfortunate happen to your current— and might I add perfectly good broom— you more than likely can afford a Firebolt. You’re a Potter.”

“But, there’s not a lot of gold in my vault,” Harry pointed out. “I mean, there’s a lot…but there’s nowhere near as much as is in yours.”

Draco blinked, having forgotten Harry had visited the Malfoy vault last summer.

“That was the family vault. You’ve yet to visit the Potter family vault. I’m sure it’s packed,” Draco assured. “But, who cares at the moment. My pocket is vibrating.”

“What?” Harry asked, looking at Draco as if he was the Insane One of the two. 

Draco’s pocket was vibrating because the piece of parchment he and Hermione Granger had charmed their first year at Hogwarts had a message from said girl. He pulled the piece of parchment out and unfolded it. 

_Just arrived at Diagon Alley. Meet me at Magical Menagerie. - HG_

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out the Muggle pen he carried. It wasn’t actually a Muggle pen, it’d been charmed in order to act like his wand had to send the message. Having discovered the parchment was useless in the summer, Hermione had spent the time she wasn’t cramming a half a term’s information into her head after being Petrified to charm a pair of pens to send the message instead of needing a wand. 

Draco didn’t ask her how she did it. He figured it was more than likely a long, detailed and confusing explanation. Instead he simply was in awe of the witch. 

_Just dragged Harry away from the Quidditch store. See you in five. -DM_

“That thing is so cool,” Harry breathed. “Do you think I could get one for this year?”

“Sure. It’ll give Hermione another project to do,” Draco joked, folding the parchment in half and putting it back in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

The boys ambled down the road toward the magical creature shop. Hermione wasn’t outside, so the boys went inside. There wasn’t a whole lot of room inside the shop. Every inch was covered with cages containing various animals. Each occupant was loud, smelly, squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or hissing. The witch behind the counter was already advising a tall redhead. 

Draco froze and grabbed Harry’s arm to halt his progress into the shop. 

“He’s been off color since I got back from Egypt,” Weasley was saying to the witch behind the counter. 

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know. Old. He used to belong to my brother,” Weasley muttered. 

“What powers does he have?”

Harry gave Draco a questioning look. Draco put his finger to his lips, dragging Harry off to the side. 

Peter Pettigrew was right there! On the counter looking ashen, thin and woebegone. The witch picked up a tattered ear, studying the missing toe and tutted loudly, looking back up at Weasley. 

“I don’t know.”

“He’s been through the mill, this one.” The witch held up a paw with a missing toe. Draco had a clear view of it. If he was ever unsure he’d overheard that Pettigrew had lived with the Weasley’s during the years he was a rat, now Draco had clear proof that was Pettigrew. How many rat’s lived for eons and were missing a toe? The same one that Pettigrew supposedly cut off during his great escape. 

“He was like that when Percy gave him to me,” Weasley muttered.

The witch sighed, staring at the pathetic animal.

Draco honestly wanted to leap out and grab the rat and run. He could run to his mother and show her the rat. From her reactions to the news about Sirius Black, he knew she didn’t believe Sirius was capable of what he’d been accused of doing. And all her various trips to Diagon Alley over the summer alone spoke she was up to something. Hopefully it was something help Sirius and not the other way around. 

Or Draco could stun the rat, store him and figure out how to force the rat into human for himself and get a confession. There had to be a spell for that. That would cut out his mother. 

“An ordinary common or garden rat like this can’t be expected to live longer than three years or so,” the witch said, trying to sound kind.

Weasley frowned deeply, digging the toe of his shoe into the floor. 

“But I could give you a tonic, if you want,” she offered. 

If Draco could just figure out how to get passed Weasley and get the rat and out of the shop… He needed a distraction. Draco turned to the best distraction maker he knew: Harry Potter. 

However, before he could plot something with the master of distractions, several things occurred. Hermione entered the shop and something orange came soaring out of nowhere and landed on top of Ronald Weasley’s head, spitting madly and sinking its claws into Weasley’s head.

“OUCH!” Weasley roared, waving his arms to get the orange fur ball off his head.

He didn’t need to, as the thing propelled itself off of Weasley’s head and stretched it’s talons out at the rat.

“NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!” the witch cried, attempting to grab the…orange thing. 

The rat shot out of the witch’s hands like a bar of soap. Draco launched himself towards the rapidly scampering rat, but missed. He landed with a thud on his face on the dusty floor.

“Scabbers!” Weasley shouted, tripping over Draco in his attempt to go after the rat, who vanished out the open door where Hermione was standing, looking mystified. 

Weasley scrambled to his feet and launched himself passed Hermione, who stepped aside as Harry followed Weasley out. Draco tried to get to his feet and tripped over his shoelaces, crashing into Hermione as the orange object escaped from the counter and attempted to leave the shop by riding on Draco’s back. 

“Arg!” Draco eloquently sputtered as he was knocked over the other direction in his attempt to free himself from the orange menace. Said menace moved to Draco’s face, causing him to topple over backwards. 

“Draco!” Hermione shouted, prying the orange thing off of his face. 

The door snapped shut and Draco pried his eyes open. 

“What is that thing?”

“A very big cat?”

“More like a small tiger,” Draco offered, staring at the ugly thing in Hermione’s arms. 

“Sorry about that,” the sales witch said, coming out from behind the counter. She attempted to take the orange thing from Hermione, but the thing hissed angrily and barred its teeth. “Bad, Crookshanks.”

Hermione made no motion to hand over the orange menace, instead scratching the thing behind the ears and quietly speaking to it. 

The thing calmed down. And began to purr contentedly. 

“How much?” Hermione asked, looking up.

Both the witch and Draco gawked at Hermione. 

“Why do you want him? He’s been here for ages. He’s…” the witch trailed off, readjusting her hat. 

“How much?” Hermione asked again.

“Er…five gallons,” the woman offered. 

Draco stared at Hermione. They did not exchange words till she paid for the cat, as well as Weasley’s rat tonic, which had been left behind in the rush to get the rat back after its escape. 

“Did I have this cat last time?” Hermione asked as they stood outside the Magical Menagerie looking for where Harry had run off to. 

“I think you did,” Draco agreed. “Granger had something orange that was furry.” 

Hermione smiled pleasantly. “Must have been a fixed point. Which is good as Mummy will take care of you now.”

The cat purred deeply, turning its ugly, squished face up towards Hermione. It looked like it’d run into a brick wall.

Draco tore his eyes off the ugly cat and scanned for Harry. He spotted Harry and Weasley on the ground near a wastepaper bin near Quality Quidditch Supplies. With Harry’s help, Weasley managed to get the rat out from under the bin. Hermione squared her shoulders and marched through the crowds towards where Weasley and Harry were examining the rat. 

“What was that thing?” Weasley asked, stuffing the rat into his pocket. 

“A very big cat or quite a small tiger?” Harry offered. “Is your rat all right?”

“Scared silly,” Weasley muttered. He suddenly startled, having realized he was having a civil conversation with Harry Potter— darling of Gryffindor and a Slytherin’s sworn enemy. 

Hermione cleared her throat. Weasley startled yet again. Upon seeing what Hermione was holding in her arms, his mouth gaped open. 

“You bought that thing?” Weasley asked, staring at the ugly cat.

“Yes. I also got this for you,” Hermione said, holding out the bottle of rat tonic. “I figured it was the least I could do, seeing I left the door open.”

Weasley did not seem to know how to respond. He turned beet red, muttered he didn’t need charity and looked like he was about to storm off. 

“If you want, pay me back,” Hermione offered. “But, I am sorry you almost lost your rat.” 

Weasley reached forward and took the tiny bottle from Hermione and muttered his thanks. He shifted from one foot to the other. Draco stared at the bulge in his pocket, fingers itching to tackle Weasley and get the rat. He was about to do it when he felt a small hand on his forearm. 

“It was nice seeing you, Weasley,” Hermione said loudly.

“Oh, yeah. Oh, and thanks for your help, Potter,” Weasley offered. He gave a stiff nod and walked away. 

“We need to meet your mum!” Harry shouted suddenly, sprinting off towards the bookstore.

Hermione kept hold on Draco’s arm. “Draco.”

“Hermione.”

“Why do you want that rat?”

“Because, it’s not a rat.”

Hermione pressed her lips together. Draco could see her going through her mental notes on the previous events of Draco’s life. The detailed copy of these notes was likely back at her home, sealed away under a specially charmed parchment only Draco and Hermione had the password for. 

Hermione was the only person who knew Draco was from the future, having deduced it from Draco’s behavior, and knew what had happened the first time around. 

“When did Potter get the rat?”

“He didn’t. The rat got away.”

Hermione studied Draco carefully. 

“You didn’t mention the rat belonged to Weasley.”

“I said he lived with the Weasleys. And Ronald Weasley is the only one who had a pet rat,” Draco pointed out. “I heard a lot during my time with the Death Eaters. The rat was-slash-is a Death Eater. He’ll go back to Marv.”

Hermione and Draco reached the bookstore. Hermione let go of his arm and readjusted her hold on the cat. She frowned, but was smart enough to figure out who Marv happened to be without needing to ask in a street full of people who would freak out at the sound of _Voldemort_. 

“We need a better plan than tackling Weasley on the street,” Hermione offered. “You remember how Time works.”

Draco sighed deeply. Time was going to be the death of him. While he’d been iffy about the theory that Time was a sentient being at first, he now fully believed Time could think for herself and enjoyed messing with him.

“Of course I do. She likes her fixed points,” Draco said. “But she also doesn’t mind if you alter them, but…”

“You have to make it count somehow. What the rat does is a major event, Draco. Like the Hitler invading Poland.”

Draco didn’t know who Hitler happened to be, but assumed that invading Poland had led to a rather large Muggle war.

“The rat sets off…well, the second coming,” Hermione finished, looking worried.

“I know.”

“The second coming is going to be very hard to rewrite,” Hermione said, frowning deeper.

“Time can be rewritten,” Draco reminded her as he mother came out of the shop and scolded him for being late. 


	4. Meet a Dementor

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Summer came to an end with a whimper. All too soon, Draco found himself trailing after Harry, looking for Hermione on the Hogwarts Express. 

“Where is she?” Harry asked, peeking in compartment after compartment.

Hermione’s bushy head poked out of a door of a compartment of the last car Harry and Draco tried. She waved wildly. Draco elbowed Harry, who finally turned away from the compartment he was staring into. The boys hurried down to where Hermione was waving. Draco came to a dead stop upon seeing who was sharing the compartment with them. 

“What’s he doing here?” Draco asked.

“He’s Professor R.J. Lupin,” Hermione replied.

“Who?” Harry asked, gawking at the sleeping man. “Why’s he here?” 

“That’s obvious,” Hermione whispered, tugging Draco into the compartment. “There’s only one vacancy.”

“Defense,” Harry sighed, sitting down next to Professor Lupin. 

“But…” Draco stared at Lupin, who appeared rather ill and exhausted. While still quite young looking, his light brown hair was flecked with grey and his face was rather lined. He wasn’t shabby, though, as he’d been the first time around. He was rather well dressed for Lupin. 

“What?” Hermione and Harry asked together.

“That’s Mr Remus,” Draco said. “You know, Atlanta’s tutor?”

Draco frowned, trying to remember if Harry had ever met the man. Draco knew Harry was aware of the man due to the fact Harry’s face lit up when Draco called Lupin Mr Remus. Harry turned to closer inspect the sleeping adult next to him. 

“Oh,” Hermione said, eyeing the trunks above Lupin’s head. “Did he only come because of Atlanta, then?”

“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t know, though,” Draco admitted. “I haven’t heard from her at all since…well, she appeared in front of us when she came back from wherever she went.”

“No letters?”

Draco shook his head. “I wrote her a few, but I didn’t get any answers back.”

“I didn’t write,” Harry said. “Two weeks I couldn’t and after that, Draco did the writing for me.”

Hermione nodded. “So, he’s here…?”

“To look after her for Mr Black?” Draco guessed. “Or he was the only person who accepted the DADA job. It is cursed.”

Harry snorted. “Sure, Draco.”

“Harry,” Hermione scolded, glancing at Draco out of the corner of her eye. Draco rolled his own and settled into his seat. 

Draco and Hermione both knew Lupin had been the professor the first time around third year, thus they both knew it was likely the case this time around. Silently, Hermione asked if the man had ridden the train last time and Draco gave a small nod, which went unnoticed by Harry, who was still studying Professor Lupin. 

“Wonder if he’s ill,” Harry commented. “And why is he on the train? Professor’s usually don’t ride the train.”

“I bet he was told to ride the train to watch Atlanta,” Hermione offered. “I take it that is her trunk next to his case. It was here when I arrived, but he was the only one in the compartment. All the others were already full. You two were rather late.”

Harry gave her a sheepish smile, sinking down in his seat a little. 

“I take it from your reaction, it was your fault?” Hermione asked, quirking her eyebrows upward. 

“Harry decided it’d be best to play a practical joke this morning and turn my hair green,” Draco sneered, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Your mum set it right! We wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t had a royal hissy fit like a girl!”

The two boys argued in quiet voices for fifteen minutes before Hermione hushed them. 

“So, do either of you know much about Hogsmeade?” Hermione asked. “I know it’s the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain.”

“It’s filled with shops,” Draco offered. 

“And I’m not allowed to go,” Harry pouted, slouching down further and sticking out his bottom lip.

“What? Why ever not?” 

“He blew up his aunt,” Draco reminded Hermione.

“So, my uncle refused to sign the form and Aunt Narcissa can’t as she’s not my guardian,” Harry grumped. 

“Ah, well, maybe it’s for the best,” Hermione offered, looking uncomfortable. 

“What? Why?”

“Sirius Black,” she reminded Harry. “He’s out to get you.”

Harry snorted, eyeing Draco, waiting for Draco to pipe up with his denial of this fact.  

“He’s not, Hermione,” Draco said, giving Hermione a sideways look. 

The pair had decided last year if Sirius Black escaped, Hermione would remain suspicious of Sirius Black until Harry had figured out Draco was from the future (if he ever did). If she suddenly switched her beliefs, Harry would want to know why she had changed her mind, which would lead to her telling him about Draco being from the future. That was a can of worms they both knew they couldn’t open up. Harry had to figure it out on his own. If he didn’t, Time might get pissed off and do something drastic. 

Draco was having enough issues changing the future without Time being mad at him. Somewhere in his head, Draco was still having trouble with the fact he had fully excepted the theories he’d read last year in a book called _Time Traveling Souls_. It was where he’d gotten the whole fixed points in time thing from and that Time was a woman. Actually, per the book, she was a mad woman who lived in a box. 

The author sounded like he was more insane than Harry Potter, but at the end of the day, the book made sense. Tragically. 

“The papers said Black is a follower of Voldemort,” Hermione reminded the two boys in a scandalized tone. “This is serious. If he follows Voldemort, it’s logical to assume he’ll be after you, Harry.”

“But, Hermione—” Draco started.

“No! I am sure Sirius Black did escape to come after Harry,” Hermione insisted. She turned to Harry and pointed a finger at him. “We know he betrayed your parents and turned them over to Voldemort. And Harry, you’re going to have to be really careful. Don’t go looking for trouble.”

“I don’t look for it. It finds me usually,” Harry said, nettled. “How thick would I be to go looking for a bloke who wants to murder me?”

“He won’t murder you,” Draco insisted.

“No one knows how he got out of Azkaban,” Hermione reminded the boys. “No one’s done it before and he was a top-security prisoner.”

“But, he got out,” Draco pointed out. “And don’t go saying he used Dark Magic.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Hermione shouted.

“SHHHHH!” Harry hissed, pointing to Lupin, who snorted in his sleep and rolled his head till it hit the window. He went back to peacefully sleeping. 

The trio toned down their conversation and stopped talking about Black. Harry seemed to be uncomfortable with the topic. Draco figured it might be due to the fact his two best friends were pitted against one another, but he let it slide in favor of doing something more fun than discussing Sirius Black as the train steadily traveled northward. 

It was after lunch when Theodore Nott showed up. It had just started to rain when the door flew open, startling all three of the people who were awake. Nott stood in the open door, flanked by his minions, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. 

Nott glared at Harry, sneering. Nott was a weedy boy who had decided to be exactly what Draco Malfoy had been the first time around: a total prat. He and Harry were enemies, though the feud between the two never got to the point it had been with Draco and Potter. 

Crabbe and Goyle were just as Draco remembered them: stupid, large and mindless. They were both cracking their knuckles, a clear sign they were looking for a fight. 

“Well, look who it is,” Nott drawled, turning his attention to Draco. He glared daggers of disgust at Draco. “Potty and the blood-traitor.”

“Nice insult. Did it take you all summer to come up with that, Weedy?” Draco drawled back, interrupting the trollish laughter Crabbe and Goyle had been mustering up. 

Nott sneered, opening his mouth to snap at Draco, but nothing came out as he finally noticed Professor Lupin.

“Who’s that?” Nott asked, taking a step backwards. 

“New teacher,” Harry explained, glancing over at Lupin. “You were saying, Nott?”

“C’mon,” Nott muttered resentfully to his cronies. 

“Well, that was lovely,” Hermione drawled from the corner she was sitting in reading a thick book. “He didn’t even notice me. I feel insulted I didn’t get insulted.”

Harry and Draco both laughed. 

The rain outside thickened as the train headed further north. By the time the sun would be about beginning its decent, it was raining hard and the lanterns had been lit for two hours or more. Professor Lupin, though, slept on as hard as he had been when they’d entered the compartment. 

“We’re nearly there,” Hermione announced, shutting her book. She turned and peered out the window. “Not that I can see anything. But, it’s almost the time we be about there. Maybe we ought to get changed.”

“The train is slowing,” Harry suddenly announced, tensing up. “But we’re not there, are we?”

“No. It’s a black endless abyss out there,” Hermione commented, turning away from the window. “Can’t see a thing.”

“Why are we stopping?” Harry asked.

“Oh, no,” Draco said, suddenly remembering why the train was stopping. 

“What?” Hermione asked, knowing full well Draco had remembered something important.

“What? Draco?” Harry asked, not knowing in the least.  

“I, uh, I…”

The lights suddenly went out as the train came to a jerky halt. Harry stood up. The door slid open.  

“Lights are out all over,” he announced. 

The door shut and Harry moved around the compartment. 

“Ouch!” Hermione gasped. “Harry, that’s my foot. Where are you going?”

“Window.”

“Sit down.”

“NOT THERE!” Draco shouted as Harry sat down in his lap. 

“Sorry.”

Noise told them Harry was moving and falling into his own seat. 

“I think people are moving in the hallway,” Harry announced after awhile. 

The compartment door slid open again and someone fell inside.

“Sorry— d’you know what’s going on? Ouch. Sorry.”

“Hullo, Neville,” Harry said. 

There was noise as Harry pulled Neville to his side of the compartment. 

“Harry?” Neville asked. “What’s going on?”

“No idea. Are you sitting?”

“Yes.”

“I’m over here.”

“Oh. There’s someone on my other side.”

“That’d be Professor Lupin.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to go ask the driver what is going on,” Hermione said loudly. “Unless you’d like to tell me?”

She asked the last question in Draco’s ear. 

“Dementors,” Draco whispered back as Neville asked Harry again what was going on. 

Hermione stayed where she was as the door slid open yet again. There were two squeals of pain as two more bodies tripped and fell into the compartment. 

“Who’s that?”

“You know who I am!”

“No, there are other people in here! I can see them! Why did you trip?”

“I can’t see magic like you, Atlanta!”

“Ginny, there are at least five people in this compartment already. Professor Lupin is asleep in the corner, Harry and Neville are there and Draco and Hermione are over here. There is room here.”

The speaker pushed Ginny Weasley over to the window. 

“Atlanta?” Harry asked. 

“Huh?”

“Is that you?”

“Who?”

“It would be me. Hullo.”

The sing song voice was familiar, but it was now in an odd sounding British accent rather than American. 

“So, you’re back?” Hermione asked. “For good?”

“Unless I accidentally time travel myself somewhere again,” she joked. “Professor Lupin assured me this would not happen, nor do I think it’ll happen. Must keep away from strange books is all. Now, what is going on?”

Everyone tried to tell her at once what they thought was going on. Chaos reigned until a hoarse voice suddenly shouted, “Quiet!”

Light was filling the cramped compartment suddenly, casting everyone in a soft, shimmering blue light. The flames in Lupin’s palm were similar to the ones Hermione cast so well, hence why he wasn’t getting burned. The soft blue light illuminated the gray, tired face of Remus Lupin and showed how alert and wary his amber eyes were as he cast them around the compartment. 

“Atlanta?”

“Yes?”

“Where have you been?”

“I went to find Ginny,” she replied. “We’re on the train. What is going to happen to me on the train?”

Lupin gave her a look. 

She huffed her annoyance. 

“Stay where you are,” Lupin warned. 

Before Lupin could do whatever he had planned to do, the door slid open again. Draco did not bother to turn to look at the dementor. His insides were frozen and all he could hear was the taunting voice of Lord Voldemort, the sounds of the Battle of Hogwarts, and his own screams. He huddled into himself next to Hermione, knowing she was actually warm but feeling none of that warmth. 

Suddenly the compartment was filled with silver light and slowly, Draco’s head cleared and he became aware of Hermione clinging to his arm. There was a thump and Draco tore his eyes away from the spot he’d been blankly staring to find Harry on the ground. 

Dementors were no friends of Harry’s any more than Potter’s it seemed.  

“Oh, no,” Neville muttered, his teeth chattering. “What’s wrong with Harry?”

“Nothing,” Lupin muttered, Vanishing the flames. He knelt down, checked Harry’s pulse and then stood back up, heading for his suitcase. Hermione untangled herself from Draco and fell to the floor and shook Harry. Draco looked over to where Atlanta and Ginny were huddled. Ginny was pale and shaking. Atlanta was rocking back and forth, pale as well.

Well, more pale. Since her time travel mishap, she’d looked drastically different than she had before. Studying her in the light, Draco saw she’d chopped off her long, flowing, curly black hair to just above her shoulders. This seemed to accent the chiseled appearance of her face. She no longer looked anything like the Atlanta Black Draco had known. She seemed to have become more…alien since he’d seen her in January some nine months ago. 

“Here.”

Draco snapped his attention to the large chunk of chocolate in front of his face. 

“It seems many of you have horrors in your pasts,” Professor Lupin murmered, eyeing Draco with a strange look. 

“Thanks,” Draco muttered, taking the chocolate. Lupin turned and made sure Atlanta and Ginny were all right before kneeling down to the waking up Harry.

“What happened?” Harry asked, attempting to sit up. Lupin put a hand on his shoulder to keep him down. 

Harry looked worse off than all of them put together. He was sickly green instead of just pale and he was sweating. After taking in his state, Lupin guided Harry into a seated position, where he sat for a moment till he stopped swaying back and forth. Standing, Lupin allowed Hermione and Neville to guide Harry to a seat on the bench. 

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know. What happened? It got really cold and who was screaming?”

“No one screamed,” Neville whispered. 

“But, I heard screaming,” Harry said, looking confused. 

“Many of us heard things,” Atlanta whispered.

“Here,” Lupin said, handing Harry a large chunk of chocolate. Harry took it, but didn’t eat it. He was staring at Atlanta and Ginny. 

“What was that thing?” Harry asked, casting his green eyes back on Lupin. 

“A dementor,” Lupin supplied, handing the last bit of chocolate to Neville. “One of the dementors from Azkaban. Now eat up. It’ll make you feel better.”

Everyone still had chocolate in their hands except for Atlanta, who was no longer as pale or shaking, but composed as she’d been when she’d entered in the dark. 

“Eat,” Lupin repeated. “It’ll help, won’t it, Atlanta?”

“Yes, helps greatly. It counters the effects of dementors by warming you up inside and out.”

Draco took a large bite and felt the warmth flood through him. 

“I need to speak to the driver. Excuse me. Oh, Atlanta, stay put,” he ordered.

Atlanta huffed. 

“Why is he so concerned for you?” Neville asked as the door slammed shut, looking at Atlanta curiously. 

“He worries. Constantly,” Atlanta drawled in an unfamiliar manner. She rolled her eyes in a very familiar manner and added, “He’s my tutor. Was my tutor? Well, he’s been with me since I was a baby, so of course he worries. I’m like his daughter.” 

Draco tried hard not to snort at that statement, which was more true than Atlanta realized. 

Harry demanded to know what had happened in great detail when the dementor entered. Draco allowed Hermione and Neville to explain it to him. Draco moved till he was sitting next to Atlanta and Ginny, who even after eating her chocolate was rather pale and shaky.

“What happened to you, Atlanta? I know you…well, something happened and you thought you were someone else. That’s what Mother told me, but she wouldn’t give me much detail,” Draco asked, looking over the unfamiliar, yet familiar face of his friend. 

“Well, I left Atlanta Siria Black, was turned into someone named Calliope Wren Riddle, was dragged to the 1970s by some girl Atlanta D. Black where Dumbledore realized the barriers Tom Riddle had created between Atlanta and Calliope were crumbling and then was sent to 1992 where I went under intense therapy to meld the two together.”

Draco baffled, gaped at her. 

“I am Atlanta Black as well as Calliope Riddle. I used Occulemency in order to organize Atlanta Black’s thoughts and life into my own. It was difficult, but I am no longer unstable and will not go insane. But, I am who I am. I will never be the Atlanta Black you knew again, nor will I ever be the Calliope Riddle Tom Riddle knew again. I am me.”

Draco wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but who ever she was at the moment, she was right.

She wasn’t who he remembered. 

Once again, Draco was faced with a completely different person than who he’d come to know. The Atlanta he had actually grown up with the first time around and remembered was completely different than the Atlanta he’d been presented with once he’d returned to the past three years ago. And now he had yet another different person. 

Time must really hate Atlanta Black with a passion. 

“You’re not all that different,” a quiet voice said from behind Atlanta. “You talk differently, but your personality is still like the girl I knew.”

“Thanks, Ginny,” Atlanta said, smiling at the girl. She squeezed Ginny’s hand and turned back to Draco. “I’m sorry I was unable to reply to your letters. My father confiscated most of my letters this summer, fearing I was not prepared for them. I only got Ginny’s because Re— Professor Lupin received those.”

Draco frowned, but didn’t ask. 

“I need to change,” Ginny said, standing up. “I’ll come back after I get my stuff.”

“Oh. Draco, could you go with her? Professor Lupin told me to stay,” Atlanta sighed, rolling her eyes again. “He worries.” She shook her head in wonderment. “I’m not sure why he worries so.” 

Draco smiled softly. Of course Lupin worried. Atlanta was his daughter, who had a new personality due to something Lord Voldemort had done to her. He couldn’t imagine what his mother would be like if that had happened to him. Draco doubted he’d be allowed to leave her sight. Well, the old version of Narcissa Malfoy. He wasn’t sure what the new one would do. He doubted either one would let him go back to Hogwarts, the scene of the crime, that much was for sure. 

“Come on, Ginny,” Draco said, jerking his head at the door. 

Ginny blushed and hurried out, followed by Draco. 

“You don’t need to go with me,” she mumbled at the ground, her cheeks glowing pink. 

“Oh, it’s fine. We’ll just grab your trunk and head back. I doubt you can really carry the trunk easily on your own.”

Ginny did not reply. 

“So, is she really that different or the same? I’m not sure how to ask that question?” Draco asked, laughing uncomfortably. 

“Feel kind of confused?” Ginny ventured, peeking up at Draco.

“Yes, actually.”

“Give her time,” Ginny said. “She’s not acting like herself at the moment. She’s more Calliope than she’s Atlanta right now because she’s scared. The dementor…”

“Makes you relive your worst moments,” Draco whispered. 

Ginny nodded. 

“Whatever Riddle did to Atlanta was worst than what he did to me,” Ginny whispered. “And I thought I was going to…”

“Yeah,” Draco quickly agreed. “I know.”

Ginny frowned. “I can’t imagine what was terrible…oh, unless…”

Ginny didn’t finisher her sentence as they reached the compartment where she’d stored her trunk. Quickly grabbing it, Draco helped her haul it back to the other end of the train. 


	5. Here We Go Again

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

The remainder of the journey to Hogwarts passed quietly. No one was up for talking much. Atlanta sat gazing out the window blankly, Harry stared into space with a vacant look on his face, while Ginny shivered every now and then. Hermione did not know what to do with a compartment full of victims of a dementor’s presence, nor did Neville. Draco continued to hear faintly his own screams in his mind and dug his nails into his palms till at last he felt the train slowing down. Looking up, the warm lights of Hogsmeade Station greeted him. The entire compartment hurried to get off the train. Once Draco was outside, he gulped down a lung full of chilled night air and felt better for it. He took solace in the noise all the various animals students brought with them made: owls hooted, cats meowed and Neville’s toad croaked loudly from his spot on top of Neville’s head. 

Draco did not want to know why the toad was on Neville’s head. 

“Let’s get out of this freezing rain,” Hermione urged, taking Draco’s elbow. “Oh, Draco, will you stop growing already?”

Harry snorted from behind them. Draco turned and looked down at Harry, whose black hair was plastered to his head.

“I’m not in control of my growth. I can assure you, I’ll try to remain this height till you two catch up,” Draco quipped, leading the way to the carriages. 

Draco honestly did not remember being this tall when he was thirteen the first time around. Or maybe he was simply surrounded by shorter people this time around, so he noticed? He felt like a giant walking with Harry and Hermione, who were both still the same height, just as they’d been since first year. 

The trio pushed their way through the crowds towards the carriages. Hagrid called out a greeting, which they waved in response. He was much too far away from them to be heard above the rain and noise of the first years trying to get to the boats. Draco gulped when he approached the carriages. Last year he had been too exhausted to take note of the ugly, ghostly looking horses that were pulling the carriages. While Draco knew they’d always been pulling the carriages after fifth year, Draco hadn’t been able to see them. 

He wished he couldn’t see them. He’d seen so many people die after Lord Voldemort’s return, he couldn’t even know when he’d started seeing them. 

“You can see them.”

Draco startled. Pushing his soaked hair out of his eyes, he looked down to find Luna Lovegood staring at him unblinkingly. Her grey eyes looked to be glowing in the darkness, but Draco was sure it was a trick of the light from the lanterns dotting the road to the school. 

“Yes.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, sounding dreamy. “He’s not dead yet, though.”

Next to him, Hermione sucked in a loud breath. 

None of the people Draco had witnessed die were dead yet, though he knew Luna wasn’t referring to them, but someone else all together. 

“What?” Harry asked, looking around. 

“Next year you will see,” Luna sadly said, turning her gaze to Harry. “Fixed into the fabric of reality, that point is.”

“You sound like Yoda,” Harry remarked, laughing. 

“Great,” Hermione said. “I believe all of us will catch a cold now. Let’s get inside.”

Hermione shoved Draco hard. He stumbled forward ungracefully till he reestablished his footing and got into a carriage. Luna followed them in and sat staring at them in her unblinking, eery manner the entire ride to school. Harry was the first one to leap out of the carriage. 

“Did I hear right, Potter? You fainted?” sneered a familiar voice. “Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?”

Draco leapt out of the carriage to find Harry staring up at Nott, who had gotten weedier and taller over the summer. Nott, who clearly hadn’t noticed earlier he was taller than Harry, was taking great pleasure in looming over the smaller boy. 

“I heard you wet your pants,” Draco drawled, coming up to stand behind Harry. 

Nott’s nostrils flared and his eyes went wide. Clearly, Nott had kept that a carefully guarded secret. The only reason Draco knew it had happened the first time around was because he’d learned that was always Nott’s response to dementors during seventh year. 

“I did not,” Nott spat out. “Did you faint as well, Malfoy? Did the big scary dementor frighten you too?”

“Is there a problem here?” a mild voice asked somewhere above Draco’s head. 

Nott looked up and met the eyes above Draco’s head, his own narrowing. With a small hint of sarcasm, Nott said, “Oh, no— er— Professor.”

He smirked rudely, stalking off, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after Nott like two well trained pets. 

Hermione prodded Draco in the back to make him hurry along. Harry stomped off ahead of them, the crowd parting for the irate Harry as he splashed up the stairs with Draco and Hermione in his wake. 

“Well, this year is getting off to a spiffing start,” Hermione muttered as they entered the warm, dry Entrance Hall.

Harry hooked a left and headed for the Great Hall, vanishing quickly inside. 

“Miss Granger!”

Hermione gave a start. Draco looked over his shoulder to find Professor Flitwick hurrying towards them. He darted between arriving students with ease and mostly went unnoticed. 

“Ah, Mr Malfoy! Best be on your way to find Mr Potter. He looked rather unhappy. Best not allow him to get in trouble before term starts!” the tiny professor squeaked, winking at Draco.

Baffled, Draco nodded and looked at Hermione in question. She shooed him off. Still rather bemused, Draco headed into the Great Hall. Harry was seated at the Griffyondor table, mouth in a tight line and glaring at the wooden tabletop as if it had insulted him. Draco sat down next to Harry and peered at him in question. 

“Wanna tell me?”

“I heard screaming,” Harry insisted. “I am not mental.”

“Oh, but you are, Insane One,” Draco attempted to joke. Harry’s mouth attempted a smile but failed. “I heard screaming as well, but I do not think we heard the same thing.”

Harry looked confused, but he no longer appeared as if he was going to punch something. 

“Dementors make you relive your worst moments,” Draco explained, lowering his voice as more students joined them at the table. “Even if you do not clearly remember.”

“So…you’re saying…what?”

“Harry, what is the worst thing that’s happened to you?”

Harry frowned deeply, but didn’t say anything. Draco didn’t really have to think too hard to figure out who was screaming in Harry’s mind and what could possible terrorize Harry to the point he’d faint. Draco relived his own torture sessions with Lord Voldemort and didn’t faint, yet whatever Harry had relived had caused him to faint. Draco would bet a hundred gallons that Harry remembered somewhere in his mind the night his parents were murdered. 

“Can we sit here?”

Draco snapped his eyes off Harry to find Ginny and Atlanta standing across from them, both looking like drowned animals. Well, Ginny looked like a drowned animal. Atlanta looked like some sort water nymph. 

“Yes, of course,” Draco assured. “You’re not going to sit, er, with your friends?”

The two girls stared at Draco with a look that told him he had just asked a really stupid question. 

“Those girls are frightened by Ginny,” Atlanta replied, her accent still jarring for Draco to hear. “Fools.”

Atlanta sniffed, lowering herself onto the bench across from Harry with ease.  

Soon everyone had entered and was seated. The first years arrived and looked as if they’d been drowned on their way across the lake. Harry grinned the moment the Sorting Hat, who wanted to be known as Sherlock, was placed on the stool to begin his song. The song was actually amusing this time around, not just the usual song and rhyme. It seemed Sherlock had spent the summer working hard on his song— which didn’t so much tell the story of the Hogwarts Houses as it did whatever book Dumbledore had read over the summer. 

Draco didn’t pay much attention through the Sorting, as there wasn’t any one of interest getting Sorted. He did clap each time someone was proclaimed a Gryffindor. By the time the Sorting was over, Hermione still had not entered and Draco began to worry. It was only after the food showed up did Hermione quietly slip through the doors and head for the Ravenclaw table. She had an odd excited glow to her face as she sat down next to Luna, who smiled at her vaguely. 

“Where was Hermione?” Harry inquired between bites of chicken. 

“No clue. Flitwick grabbed her before we entered the Great Hall,” Draco answered. 

Harry looked curious, but didn’t ask any further questions. 

Soon the feast was over and Dumbledore stood up to say his peace before allowing them to head off for bed. Draco suddenly felt in his limbs how tired and drained of energy he had become over the course of the meal. He wanted nothing more than to tuck himself into bed. 

“Welcome!” Dumbledore boomed, his long silver hair and beard shimmering in the candlelight as he warmly smiled at everyone in the hall. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way. Hopefully you are all not too befuddled by the feast to listen.”

Silence draped the hall and all students sat at attention. Even Draco suddenly felt more awake. 

“Ah, good,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “As you all are well aware, there was a search of the Hogwarts Express. This is due to the fact Hogwarts will be playing host to the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.”

Dumbledore frowned a little. Draco only caught it because he was paying close attention to what Dumbledore was saying and how he was saying it. The usual twinkle in the old man’s eyes was missing, and the fraction of a second frown told Draco Dumbledore did not believe the dementors needed to be at Hogwarts.

Something was greatly amiss. Why wouldn’t Dumbledore want the school protected? Did he know that Sirius Black wasn’t guilty of the crimes he was charged with? 

“The dementors are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore continued, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave the school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises— or even Invisibility Cloaks.”

Dumbledore added that last bit blandly, but Draco felt Harry tense up next to him. Draco, this time around, was sure that remark was meant for Harry and Harry alone. The first time around, Draco had scoffed, wondering what student would own an Invisibility Cloak. Draco sure didn’t have one, who else would have one at Hogwarts other than a Malfoy? 

“It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn all of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to our perfects and our new Head Boy and Girl to make sure no student runs afoul this year.”

Former Prefect Weasley, who was sitting a few seats away from Harry, puffed his chest out and stared around impressively, making sure the light hit his brand new shiny Head Boy badge. Next to him, Oliver Wood rolled his eyes deeply, yet still wore a rather found expression on his face. 

Ginny snorted. The twins both rammed their heads into the tabletop, mostly to cover up their snickers. Draco looked back at Head Boy Weasley to find the badge was flashing purple and green and now said BIG HEAD BOY. 

How fitting…

“And on a happier note, I’m pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks!”

“Two?” Harry asked, looking back at the Head Table and away from Big Head Boy Weasley. 

“First, Professor Lupin has kindly agreed to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts position,” Dumbledore went on over the whispers of who the other new professor was.

“Look at Snape!” Harry hissed in Draco’s ear.

Draco chanced a glance at his godfather. It was common knowledge that Snape wanted the post of DADA professor. The past two years, Snape had regarded the professor for DADA with distain, but he was glaring outright at Lupin in pure loathing. Draco knew the expression rather well as it was the one the man had worn often around Potter. (Not so much Harry, as for some reason this time around the man didn’t outright hate Harry, just disliked him rather strongly.) 

“As to our second appointment,” Dumbledore went on as the lukewarm applause for Lupin died out. “Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired to spend more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rebeus Hagrid, who agreed to take on the post in addition to his duties as gamekeeper.” 

Hagrid’s applause was a lot louder and more cheerful than the round Lupin got. 

“I should have known! Who else would give us a biting book!” Harry cried in reference to the book Narcissa had bestowed upon him with utter care. Draco had showed them both how to calm the book, which of course led to lots of questions he couldn’t really answer properly. While Harry wouldn’t let it go, his mother seemed to be pleased the book was no longer trying to bite her hand off. Or eat Harry. 

“Now, off to bed!” 

And off Draco went. 

* * *

The next morning Harry was greeted by jeers and fainting impersonations from the Slytherins, which he ignored rather gracefully. Schedules were handed out and Harry got into a deep discussion with the twins and Wood about Quidditch. Draco ate his breakfast and drank his coffee while looking over his schedule. 

“What do you have first?” 

Draco glanced up from the paper to find Hermione had joined him at the table. She was seated across from him, vibrating with excitement.

“Arithmancy,” Draco replied. “You did sign up for that, right?”

“I did. I’ve got that first too. We must have it together!” 

“I doubt it was all that popular,” Draco admitted, reaching out and snatching the schedule out of her hands. He frowned when he saw what was written. “Hermione, you are taking ten subjects a day. And most of them all take place at the same time.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve fixed it with Flitwick,” Hermione assured, snatching the parchment out of Draco’s hands. 

“Hermione, how are you going to be in three places at once?”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Hermione said, her voice a little too high. She was avoiding his eyes. “I can’t be in more than one place at once.”

“Hermione.”

“Pass the marmalade,” she said, her voice going higher. 

Atlanta set the jar in front of Hermione, looking at her in question. Hermione quickly spread the jam on some toast. Draco pulled out his messaging parchment and quickly wrote Hermione a message.

_I know you are lying. You can tell me._

Draco looked up at her as she received the message. She took out her parchment and hid behind a propped up book to respond. 

_I can’t tell you. I promised. It was part of the deal. If you guess, that’s fine. I bet you can figure it out, just as I figured your secret out._

Draco frowned. It’d taken her almost two years to figure out he was a time traveler.

Hermione was staring at him with an expression that was torn before hope and worry. Draco shrugged. He had no idea what he was trying to tell her, but he didn’t want to spend two years trying to figure it out. 

He would have to use some sort of cunning to get it out of her. 

Or something. He had charms. 

Or he did. Draco doubted they’d work on Hermione.  

“I think I better be going,” Harry announced suddenly. “Do any of you know how to get to the North Tower? Percy tried to tell me, but he just confused me.”

Harry frowned.

“Oh! I’ll show you!” Hermione exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “I have Divination this afternoon. It’ll be good to know the way.”

Hermione hurried off.

“Wait! I thought you said you’d show me!” Harry shouted after her, running to catch up. 

No sooner had Harry vanished from view, Hedwig landed in front of Draco.

“Oh, good morning. You’re a bit late,” Draco said, giving the snowy owl a worried look. 

She stared at him, blinking her large amber eyes. She stuck out her leg. It was addressed to Harry, but the owl didn’t seem to mind leaving it with Draco. Draco unfastened the letter and assured the owl he’d give it to Harry. He gave her a bit of bacon and decided he best go find his first class. He hadn’t taken it last time around, thus had no idea where the classroom was located. 


	6. Picture Perfect Omens

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Arithmancy was hard, just as Draco figured it would end up being. Arithmancy made little or no sense whatsoever— especially when Draco found out the fact he was going to use numbers to predict the future.

Was Arithmancy just a more complicated form of Divination? 

He would have asked Hermione, but she turned up winded and rather pink mere seconds before the bell rang. Hermione brushed Draco’s inquires to why she was so late in favor of jotting down things on her number chart. 

Hermione, of course, instantly understood whatever they were supposed to be doing, judging by the large smile she wore on her face throughout the lesson and the praise she received from Professor Vector on the composition of a rather complex number chart showing what would happen tomorrow…or something. 

Draco had no clue what he was supposed to be doing. 

After Arithmancy, Draco parted ways with Hermione and headed off to rejoin the other Gryffindors in Transfiguration. Seeing he was the only Gryffindor taking Arithmancy, his walk was lonely and he arrived before a majority of his fellow housemates. Taking a seat in the back, Draco began to get his things out as people slowly began to trickle into the room. Harry slumped into the room after most of the others. He collapsed into the chair next to Draco, somehow doing it without making as much noise as possible. Harry slouched down, eyes darting all over the place silently daring someone to speak to him and suffer the his wrath. Draco narrowed his eyes a bit then scanned the room. Everyone was taking what they thought were stealth glances at Harry. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patel both kept looking at Harry as if he was going to drop dead at any moment. They whispered to one another in hushed tones behind their hands and then would look at Harry with eyes full of pity.  

“Everyone is rather gloomy,” Draco noted as Neville shuffled into the room and flopped into the desk in front of Harry and Draco.

Draco got a grunt for a response from Harry. 

“Harry, why does everyone keep looking at you like they expect you to drop dead at any moment?” Draco tried.

Harry looked up from where he’d been staring holes into his desk and opened his mouth. However, he never got to tell Draco why everyone was giving him furtive glances because Professor McGonagall entered and everyone pretended to face forward, while continuing to look in Harry’s direction under their arms. Draco sighed, turned his attention to McGonagall. He took careful notes on Animagi, especially since Harry had chosen to channel a Muggle zombie. Draco half expected him to start moaning about brains and drooling uncontrollably. 

Draco’s confirmation he was the only person actually paying attention arrived when McGonagall transformed into a tabby cat. Draco was the only soul in the room who clapped when she popped back to human form. 

He was thirteen, it was supposed to be very impressive to a teenager—hence the clapping. In truth, it wasn’t all that amazing to Draco. In fact, animal transformations struck Draco as a…bit not good. There was the rat, who used to hide from justice. And then…he still had nightmares about ferrets. While it’d been awhile since he’d woken and sworn he had paws, it still made his skin crawl and his cheeks burn a little when he remembered…the Ferret Incident of Fourth Year— which tragically happened each time McGonagall transformed for the class. The whole thing was an even greater injustice, as it’d turned out to be a Death Eater in disguise who had embarrassed Draco in front of the school. That was something that would not be happening this time around, no matter how much Time wanted to fix it. 

This year was the turning point. The rat was important. At some point, the rat was going to break loose and find Voldemort and nurse him back to…health. This would set off a chain of events that led to the resurrection of the Dark Despot of Terror.

Draco’s mouth opened a little as he realized these things— which tragically had never really occurred to him in that order.  

It was as if a light had gone off above his head. 

He’d been focused on the rat mostly because he knew it’d prove Sirius Black innocent and maybe Harry could have a family— especially after meeting Harry Potter for a second time and becoming his best friend. Harry was desperate for a family. While Narcissa and Draco kind of allowed Harry to have this, Sirius was his godfather. That meant something more than distant cousins. 

“Really. What has gotten into all of you today? Not that it matters, but that’s the first time you have not all clapped for my transformation,” McGongall mentioned, looking around the room. She put her hands on her hips and studied everyone over the rims of her square glasses. “Mr Malfoy is the only one paying a lick of attention. Well, he was…”

Draco shook himself, wanting to speak to Hermione desperately about his new realization. How had they missed this? Or had he just missed it, but she’d seen it but kept quiet? 

No, she’d told him. 

He needed to re-read Addy’s (the other Atlanta, the one he’d somehow sent to the 1970s) letter. She said something about the rat. 

“Well?” McGonagall demanded, hands still on her hips as she study the class in front of her. 

The entire room turned to stare at Harry outright.

Draco frowned, wondering what had happened in Divination and why every Gryffindor except Draco was taking it.

“Professor McGonagall?” Patel asked, slowly raising her hand. “We’ve just had our first Divination lesson—”

McGonagall’s mouth instantly went into a tight line. 

“I see,” she quickly interrupted Patel before she could finish. “Tea leaves was it?”

Patel quickly nodded and opened her mouth to speak again, but McGonagall gave a terse shake of her head. Patel’s mouth snapped shut. 

“Tell me, which one of you is going to die this year?”

Draco frowned, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye. 

“Me,” Harry said, hand going up in the air. 

There was a definite ‘Why Me?’ tone to his voice. 

Draco laughed. He could not help it. Harry dying? Harry getting into a situation where his life was in danger this year? Oh, it was going to happen. Even Draco could predict that— without tea leaves or numbers. But, would Harry dying this year?

No.

Harry Potter was the Boy Who Had A Death Wish, but it’d never came true. He seemed to cheat death up—till he was seventeen when he walked right into it.

There was a reason they called him the Boy Who Lived. Because he did just that: he lived. Until he walked to his own death.

Draco quickly stopped laughing when he realized quite a few people were looking at him as if he were deranged. Harry was looking a bit amused and relieved. 

“Sorry,” Draco quickly apologized. “It’s just…”

“Mr Malfoy’s got the right idea,” McGonagall announced. Brown and Patel looked utterly scandalized. “The idea that Potter will die this year is laughable. You should know, Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived thirteen years ago. None of them have died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way to greet a new class. If it were not for the fact I never speak ill of my colleagues—”  

McGongall broke off, her nostrils flaring and going white. She shook herself and pressed on.

“Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare. Professor Tre—”

Yet again, Professor McGonagall stopped herself short of voicing her true feelings on Trelawney. She took a breath and turned her attention to Harry.

“You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t excuse you from homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not turn it in.”

Draco chuckled. He was again the only person making noise till Harry let out a weak sounding laugh. Neville let out a squeak while the girls all stared at Draco as if he were Voldemort himself. 

“What about Neville’s cup?” Brown inquired in a loud whisper.

Draco stopped chuckling and quirked an eyebrow.  After glancing at the professor (who waved her hand at him), he asked, “Let me guess, he broke it?”

“She predicted he would brake one of the pink ones!” Patel shouted.

“So? I could have done that as well,” Draco said.

“How?”

“I know Neville. No offense, Nev, but you’re a walking disaster,” Draco said, meeting Neville’s eye when he turned around to peer at Draco. “The first cup you touched, you broke, right?”

Neville nodded.

“Did you go for a pink one on purpose?”

Neville shook his head in the negative.

“But, I  bet you were nervous because she told you that you’d break one, right?”

Again, Neville nodded in agreement.

“See?”

Brown and Patel tried to argue with Draco’s logic, but McGonagall called for attention and went back over the information most of the class missed. 

* * *

While Harry had weakly laughed during Transfiguration, by the time they headed to lunch, he was half-convinced he was going to drop dead by the end of the year.

“Stuff happens to me all the time. Weird stuff. Stuff where I could die. Oh, and there’s this escaped convict out to kill me, supposedly,” Harry reminded Draco as they walked to the Great Hall. “Then, there’s the fact Voldemort is out to kill me too. Remember Quirellmort and the fact you call me Boy Who Has A Death Wish when it suits you?”

“Yeah, okay,” Draco agreed, suddenly feeling a little guilty for letting that nickname slip out. “Half the time it’s your own fault you get into those messes. Remind me how you met your pet snake that lives in the pipes of the school? Remember you went off chasing a troll and would have chased right after Quirrellmort if I hadn’t restrained you? You wanted to go off and follow spiders last year for no reason other than it felt right.”

Harry frowned.

“You could have died during any of those oh so mental things you either did or wanted to do, oh, Insane One,” Draco reminded Harry cheekily. “So, if you want to keep yourself alive, stop being mental and doing stuff where you could die. Stay away from trolls, spiders and trying to save people.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Draco raised a hand. 

“No, you have a complex. It’s called a Hero Complex and it prompts you to rush off into danger without thinking. Own up to it, accept it and realize that when you want to jump down a dark hole, to let me know and I’ll rationally think on it for a second before you go off to face death, okay?” 

Harry huffed and flopped down at the table. 

“And Sirius is not going to kill you,” Draco muttered. “If anything, he might hug you.” 

Harry didn’t respond. He pouted and poked his food till Hermione turned up and announced, “Divination was a complete waste of time!”

Draco stared at the bushy haired girl as she slammed a few heavy books on the table.

“When did you go to Divination?” Draco asked. “Didn’t you have Arithmancy and Charms this morning?”

“I had the class after Harry’s. Charms tomorrow,” Hermione said, flapping her hand over her shoulder. “She told us he was going to die! She also told me you can’t learn Divination from a book! How does she expect us to learn!”

If it was possible, as Hermione ranted her hair got bigger. 

“Wait, Draco’s right. When did you have time to have Divination this morning?” Harry asked. “I thought you had Muggle Studies after Arithmancy? Or did I read that wrong?” 

Hermione ignored Harry’s questions and continued to rant. 

“And what is with the Grim? She kept telling us someone had seen one in their tea cup— oh and don’t get me started on tea leaves! I assumed, since she told us one of our fellow students would die this year it was Harry. So of course, Harry saw the Grim in his tea cup, because clearly he’s going to drop dead at any moment! The whole branch of magic is….wooly. It’s nothing like Arithmancy! Who says seeing a dog will cause you to drop dead!?”

“I saw one,” Harry admitted, going pale. 

“What?” Draco asked, jerking in his seat. He grabbed Harry’s upper arm tightly. “When? How? What?”

“What? I didn’t realize seeing a big, black shaggy dog was something horrible till this morning!” Harry shouted, trying to free his arm.

“When did you see it?” Hermione asked in a no nonsense tone, shooting Draco a glare. Draco promptly let go of Harry, who grabbed his fork up again and began pushing food around on his plate. 

“The night I ran off from the Dursleys,” Harry grumbled. “It was across the street from me in an alley when I stopped to get my broom out. I saw it, then when I went to get a closer look, it wasn’t there.”  

“Probably a stray. Also, you will note you are not dead,” Hermione pointed out. “This happened months ago and you lived to tell the tale.” 

“And not for lack of trying,” Draco attempted to joke under his breath. 

“My Uncle Bilius saw a Grim once,” Ginny said from the other side of Hermione. Hermione jumped, having failed to notice the fact Atlanta and Ginny had sat down on the other side of her. Ginny narrowed her eyes a little and added, “And twenty-four hours later he was dead.”

Hermione puffed up. “Coincidence.”

“You see one and you die!”

Hermione frowned deeply, studying younger girl. “That is silly. He might have died of fright, simply believing he’d seen a death omen. Self-fufilling prophecy.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows a little and glanced at Draco. 

“It’s been more than twenty-four since Harry the dog,” Draco pointed out. “And, he’s clearly not dead.”

“I am not dead,” Harry stated flatly, stabbing a bit of shepherd’s pie. “Very, very alive here.” 

“Nor are you going to magically drop dead,” Hermione hastily added, her voice raising a little. “This is so silly! If you want any predictions, look to Arithmancy. Right, Draco?”

“Er…yeah.” 

“There are such things as prophecies made by people who specialize in Diviniation,” Atlanta suddenly announced in her strange posh accent. “Seers are real. But, real Seers don’t realize they’ve made the predictions. And people who practice Arithmancy do not believe they are predicting the future in the same sense as a Seer. Using Arithmancy, one discovers the magical properties of numbers and uses that to predict what _might_ occur in the future. For instance, there is a great magical properties behind the number seven. Thus, if you need something to go correct or need some extra luck, try the seventh month on the seventh day.” 

“How-how-how do you know all that?” Hermione inquired, staring at Atlanta aghast. 

Atlanta gave a weird smirk and flounced out of the Great Hall, leaving four very bewildered people behind. 

* * *

Harry left the castle for the afternoon to attend Care for Magical Creatures with Hagrid. Draco had Ancient Runes. There were two sections of it, but the teacher was against having all the same House in one class, so she mixed them up between the four Houses. Draco had made sure several times during lunch that Hermione would be joining him and wasn’t in the other section. 

She’d been right behind him, but when he walked into the room she had managed to transport herself elsewhere. Hence why Draco was currently suffering through an awkward conversation with Blaise Zabini— who took the open seat next to Draco since Hermione had failed to be present to fill it. 

“How was your summer?”

“Fine. And yours?” Draco inquired stiffly, glancing at the door. 

“Wonderful. Mother took me back to Italy for a visit.”

“Hmm,” Draco hummed. 

Zabini didn’t say anything else, as Hermione chose that moment to fall into the classroom, looking a bit dazed. She spotted Draco and made a beeline for him falling into the desk in front of him and Zabini. 

“You would not believe this, but I got lost,” Hermione said, sounding confused. “I went over how to get to the new classes last night before bed! And then again this morning! I did a dry run and everything!”

“I thought you were right behind me?” 

“What? No, I wasn’t,” Hermione said so fast Draco was sure he’d heard her wrong. She turned around quickly, leaving Draco feeling rather confused. 

It was on the tip of his tongue what could be going on with Hermione, but the professor showed up and began to demand his full attention. 

Ancient Runes went a bit better than Arithmancy. It was still somewhat confusing, but at least somewhat familiar, as Draco had suffered through it before. Yet, his brain was still a puddle of mush by the time the class was over. He was sure he wasn’t the only one. Most of the class looked a bit dazed when the bell rang. 

Hermione flew out of the room at top speed in a flurry of parchment and quill bits, leaving Draco behind to have another awkward exchange with Zambini as they packed up their belongings. 

“This was interesting,” Zabini said, gathering his expensive parchment into a bundle. 

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, shoving things into his bag without paying attention. “Nifty.”

Zabini gave Draco a cool, indifferent look then slipped his bundle of parchment into his school bag. 

“Are you going out for the Quidditch team this year?”

“I’m sure our team will remain intact for the year. No one graduated,” Draco admitted, attempting to cram his book into the bag on top of the crumbled parchment. “Are you planning to try out for your house team?”

“No idea. Not likely,” Zabini admitted. “Well, see you next class. Oh, and it might fit better if you organized your bag. I don’t bite.”

Zabini drifted out of the room, leaving Draco feeling even more wrong footed than he had from their exchanges in the past. 

Figuring he had nothing to loose now, he organized his bag properly and then hefted the bag onto his shoulder and set out for Gryffindor tower. He hoped Hagrid’s first class had been fun— if memory served correctly Hagrid was introducing the class to hippogriffs. As long as no one insulted a hippogriff, the class ought to have been rather interesting. However, upon entering the cheerfully lit Common Room and finding a glum looking Harry and Neville, Draco had a feeling the class had gone the same direction it’d gone when Draco had taken it.

Only, the reason the class had gone so bad wasn’t there. He was in Ancient Runes feeling a combination of confused and uncomfortable.  

“Damn it, Time,” Draco cursed, knowing from the way Harry and Neville were seated they’d been there for quite awhile. 

Knowing he couldn’t let on he knew what happened, Draco plastered a pleasant expression on his face and headed for where Harry and Neville were seated near the fireplace. 

“So, how was Hagrid’s first class?” Draco asked, keeping a rather fake smile on his face. “Ancient Runes was horrible. Head feels like it is filled with puree spinach rather than brain matter.” 

Neville and Harry blankly looked up at Draco. 

“Our class was awful,” Neville moaned. “It would have been great, but…” 

“Nott got himself hurt,” Harry said angrily. “It was his own fault. Didn’t listen…”

Nott had picked on Harry and Neville, then spent the time Hagrid was explaining one should not insult a Hippogriff whispering (and likely plotting against Harry) and thus when he was faced with the Hippogriff, Nott insulted it. 

Hence, he’d paid the same price Draco had: talon to the arm. 

Second for second, the class rolled out exactly as it had the first time around— eerily so.

“Oh, Nott’s going to get Hagrid fired,” Neville worried, twisting his hands together in his lap. “It was his first class and Nott got sliced up!”

“Not sliced up, just cut,” Harry snapped at Neville.

Harry’s mood clearly had taken a turn for the worst. Between the dropping dead prediction and Nott’s stupid stunt during Care of Magical Creatures, Harry was close to being the grumpiest Draco’s had ever seen him. And he was taking it out on Neville. 

Bloody Nott.

Draco nudged Harry and gave him a pointed look. Harry looked sheepish before turning to Neville. 

“Sorry.”

Neville, though, was too busy worrying about Hagrid to notice Harry’s rudeness. 

“Trust Nott to mess things up,” Draco grumbled. “Care for dinner?”

Harry nodded. Draco had to drag Neville up by his collar to get him to stop fretting about Hagrid getting fired for Nott’s stupidity. 


	7. Let's Do Some Cheering

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Hagrid failed to show up for dinner. His huge chair near the end of the Head Table sat empty as a blazing symbol that something was wrong. The Gryffindors who’d been in the class with Hagrid when Nott had been injured all kept glancing at the empty seat with a combination of knowing and sorry looks. Over at the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle were busy spreading their version of what had happened that afternoon to Nott. By the end of dinner, most of Slytherin table was snickering every time they glimpsed Hagrid’s empty chair. 

Nott was not at dinner either, more than likely doing just as Draco had done—milking his little cut for all it was worth. This only seemed to fuel Crabbe and Goyle’s version of events, thus making most of the school believe Nott had been gravely injured by a rampaging hippogriff rather than hurt at his own folly. 

If only all injuries Draco had received were on parr with that cut. Yes, it’d hurt at first— thus all the screaming and wailing— but, it was nothing compared to things that had happened to Draco later in life. 

“I can’t believe it,” Harry grumped, pushing food around on his plate and not eating. 

“Oh, believe it,” Draco said. “Nott’s a snot nosed berk. He craves attention like you crave none. But, hey, look at Weasley and Zabini. They clearly don’t believe the story Goyle and Crabbe are spreading. Wasn’t Weasley in class with you?”

Harry glanced over at the group Zabini had gathered around himself while nodding his agreement. The four (Weasley, Zabini, Tracy Something and Glasses Girl) were giving the rest of their year mates looks of distain. Weasley clearly had told the other three what had really happened with Nott. As soon as they were finished, Zabini stood and cross the Great Hall to where Harry was seated with Weasley trailing behind him. The two girls drifted off in the opposite direction. 

“Ronald has informed me what occurred during Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon,” the impossibly poised boy began, looking down at Harry in such a manner you’d think Zabini was addressing some foreign dignitary rather than Harry Potter. “Nott’s behavior during class was uncalled for and while the rest of the school might buy into the…fairy tale Crabbe and Goyle have chosen to spread, I wanted you to know I’m rather fond of Hagrid and would never want him fired over something that was clearly Nott’s fault. I would have enjoyed taking a class he was teaching on Magical Creatures. He knows quite a bit about interesting creatures.”

Harry stared at Zabini as if he was speaking Gobbledegook. Draco narrowed his eyes looking between Weasley and Zabini. 

“How do you know Hagrid?” Draco inquired. 

Zabini turned his attention to Draco and smirked. “Don’t all first years attempt to sneak into the forest to find out if there’s really things that go bump in the night?”

And on that parting question, Zabini nodded at Harry and Draco. Weasley muttered something to Harry and hurried after his friend. Draco looked at Harry, who was looking as if someone had just informed him he was currently on the world of Jajazikstak and at any moment a transport ship would pick him up to take him to Frogstar B.

(Yes, Draco had been reading Muggle fiction books.)

“What was that about?” Neville asked, leaning across the table towards Harry and Draco.  “Did he…is there some sort of plot…what was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted, looking at the Slytherin table. Parkinson was staring at where Zabini and Weasley had retreated with a look of pure disgusted confusion. She turned to her fellow snot nosed friends and began whispering. While Draco doubted she’d heard what Zabini had said to Harry, it was clear from Harry’s reaction he hadn’t been bullying the kid or mocking him in any sense. 

Draco mused for a moment what this fractioning of Slytherin would mean later on in the game. As a House, they almost always presented a united front. During the…last battle at the school, the entire house vacated the school whether they wanted to or not (except clearly Draco and his goons, but they were the only ones Draco was pretty sure). So, when push came to shove, would those four join the…not Death Eater side? Weasley wouldn’t be a Death Eater, even if he seemed to be fitting into Slytherin a little too well for Draco’s liking. Zabini hadn’t chosen a side the first time around and the two girls…well, Draco couldn’t even remember their names. Tracy Davidson? Tracy Davies? Tracy nothing beginning with a D? 

“I’m done,” Harry announced, standing up.

Draco and Neville followed Harry out of the Great Hall and back to the Common Room. It was only after Draco was tucking into his homework did he realized Hermione had not dropped by the table during dinner.

“Bet she has a lot of homework,” Harry grumbled, flicking through his Transfiguration book. “Look at the lot we got! And it’s only from two classes!”

Draco couldn’t imagine what Hermione’s load of homework looked like with all the extra classes she was somehow fitting into a day. She seemed to have had every single class she could take today somehow.  While Draco knew she’d not received any homework in Arithmancy, the amount of reading assigned for Ancient Runes ought to be illegal. Who knew what else she’d gotten in her other courses. 

“Hagrid’s light is on,” Neville said, gazing out a near by window. He was wringing his hands in his lap, having given up his Divination homework. Draco reached over and pried his hands apart.

“You’re going to wear your skin off,” Draco muttered to the round faced boy. 

Neville stared at his hands as if he hadn’t been aware how red they’d become. 

Harry checked his watch. “If we hurry we could pop down—”

“No! You can’t!” Neville shouted, turning in his seat to face Harry. His eyes were extra huge with worry and alarm. “What about Sirius Black! He wants to kill you and….”

Harry frowned. “I can walk across the grounds, can’t I? Dementors are all over the place. How will Black get in?”

Draco bit his lip. Sirius Black was able to get passed the dementors. Draco couldn’t exactly remember how Sirius had achieved this, but for some reason a dog came to mind.

Hadn’t Potter had a dog fifth year with him at the station that Lucius pointedly pointed out to Draco? And told him to mention to Potter? Potter had reacted oddly when Draco mentioned the dog. 

And Aunt Bella was forever referring to Sirius as a dog. After she’d “killed” him she made a few illusions to Sirius having been “put down like the dog he was.” 

Draco glanced at his Transfiguration homework on Animagi. The animal most wizards and witches turned into had to so with his or her very being. McGonagall turned into a cat due to the fact she was rather cat-like. What if Sirius was dog like in nature and had somehow figured out how to turn himself into a dog? 

Wouldn’t the Ministry know about this, though? Animagi had to register with the Ministry— oh. Wait. There were illegal Animagi. There had only been three registered this century(or something like that; it was in his notes). Draco knew there were more than three Animagi running around Britian.  

“But-but-but-but,” Neville stammered, looking at Draco for aid in preventing Harry from chasing after dementors. 

“Harry’s got a point. Dumbledore never told Harry he couldn’t gallivant across the grounds. He simply warned not to venture outside of Hogwart’s gates— which is where the dementors are hanging out,” Draco reminded Neville, tossing his stuff into his bag. He made a mental note to dig out the letter he’d gotten on his first night at Hogwarts from Atlanta the First. He was sure there was some sort of clue or hint in that thing that would let him know if he was right about Sirius becoming a dog. Or something.

Could animals get passed dementors? Draco knew only wizards and witches could see them, but Muggles and Squibs could feel them. Didn’t that meant animals were likely aware of them as well? 

Neville frowned, but didn’t offer up any further objects to venturing outside the tower. They all put their things away in the dormitory and headed outside— exiting unnoticed by any of their housemates. 

While Dumbledore never stated no one was allowed to traipse around the grounds before curfew, no one was out and about as the boys made their way from the tower to the Entrance Hall.While this seemed to cause Neville to worry (he began to wring his hands again), Harry looked more determined to go outside. 

Harry pushed the front door open and slipped out, followed by the other two boys. The night was warm, yet something strange hung in the air as they made their way across the damp grass towards Hagrid’s hut. Neville began to make random squeak noises till they were bathed in the soft, warm light issuing from Hagrid’s hut.

“I hate twilight,” Neville admitted as Harry banged on the door. “Not light, but not totally dark yet. You see things.”

Harry gave Neville a sympathetic look and knocked again, as they’d heard nothing from the first knock. 

“C’min,” was the grumble that sounded after the second attempt.

The three boys entered and Draco only needed one glance at the half giant to tell him that Hagrid had been drowning his sorrows in massive quantities of alcohol. Likely since the end of his first class. Draco stared at the large tanker next to Hagrid, which was large enough that Draco could have literally drown in it. 

“’Spect it’s a record,” Hagrid slurred thickly. “Don’ reckon they’ve ever had a teacher who only lasted a day.”

“You’ve been fired!” Neville shouted, pressing his hands over his mouth. 

“Not yet. Will be. It’s only a matter of time till Nott goes to Daddy,” Hagrid wallowed.

“Er, how is he? Nott that is,” Draco inquired somewhat quietly.

“Madam Pomfrey fixed him the best she could,” Hagrid said duly. 

Translation: Nott was cured!

“He says he’s in agony. Covered in bandages, moaning.”

Translation: pretending.

“He’s faking it,” Harry insisted, stubborn set to his mouth. “Pomfrey’s healed my bones in a night. I mean, not just healed them but regrew my entire arm. And that hurt. Nott’s just milking it for all it’s worth. Git.” 

“School’s gov’nors been told,” Hagrid went on, clearly not listening to Harry. “Reckon started out too large. Done flobberworms or summat. Thought, hippogriffs made a good firs’ lesson. ’S all my fault.” 

Draco frowned.

When he’d insulted the hippogriff and gotten hurt, Madam Pomfrey had  healed the cut in a blinked of an eye. Then, because he could, Draco had milked it for more than it was worth. Draco had gone out of his way to get Hagrid fired and had to settle on having the hippogriff beheaded as a punishment for the harm done to his arm, as getting Hagrid fired wasn’t within his father’s power after he’d been kicked off the board of school governors. 

Not that the hippogriff had gotten beheaded, as the night it was to happen, Sirius Black and the hippogriff managed to avoid death. 

Potter had something to do with both events. 

Oh.

Had Time made Nott insult the hippogriff in a very similar manner Draco had used the first time around due to the fact it was a fixed point in time that had to happen to make sure something else happened? Maybe something to do with Sirius? 

Draco was jolted out of his musing when Hagrid stood up and knocked his chair over on his way out the door. 

“What’s he doing?” Draco inquired.

“Dunking his head in some water,” Neville reported. “Harry’s dumping out his tankard. Convinced him that drinking wasn’t the answer.”

Harry reentered the room holding the empty tankard (well, more like dragging it), followed by a very wet Hagrid. The man wiped his sopping wet hair out of his eyes.

“That’s better. You’re right, Harry—” 

Hagrid stopped dead, staring at Harry as if seeing him for the first time.

“WHAT DO YA THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Hagrid roared, suddenly very sober. “YEH’RE NOT TO BE WANDERIN’ AROUND AFTER DARK!”

He rounded on Draco and Neville.

“And you two, lettin’ him!”

Hagrid grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt and hauled him out of the hut. After exchanging looks, Draco and Neville scrambled to follow. 

* * *

It was as they were getting ready bed that night Draco remembered he had a letter for Harry. He fished it out of his bag and tossed it over to Harry. It landed on Harry’s bed among his discarded homework. Harry picked the letter up and asked, “What’s this?”

“Came for you after you’d left this morning.”

Harry stared at the letter for a moment before his whole face lit up and he tore the letter open. Draco paused in getting ready for bed to watch Harry gobble up the letter, a huge grin painting his face. 

“Who’s it from, then?” Draco inquired. 

“TR DeVinette,” Harry said in a hushed voice, glancing around the dormitory. Neville was already snoring and the other two had their curtains drawn. Harry inched closer to Draco. “He…well, over the summer he asked if I wanted to publish the Slytherin journals for the rest of the wizarding world any time soon. So far the only copies available are here at Hogwarts. I told him I had to think on it.”

“You didn’t mention this.”

Draco wondered why Harry didn’t broach the subject this over the summer. They’d been together almost every day after Harry had caused his aunt to channel a balloon. 

“I spoke to your mum about it. You weren’t up yet…then by the time you deemed to grace us with your pretense, I’d forgotten. Anyways, she said it was up to me, since I was the one who’d found them,” Harry explained, folding the letter up into quarters in his hands. “Anyways, before we left, I wrote him back and said it was cool.”

“So, Slytherin is going public?”

“Yup,” Harry said, slipping the letter into his pocket. “Things are going to get crazy, aren’t they?”

“Highly likely. I doubt the wizarding community will take kindly to the fact Slytherin was a Muggleborn, especially when he’s so well known for hating them,” Draco commented. “And you can bet all the Slytherin alums who put stock in the fact Slytherin detested Muggleborns won’t be quiet about the whole thing.” 

“The school took it pretty well,” Harry commented. “And I doubt everyone who read the book kept it to themselves. I’m sure they told their parents. TR said there’s a ton of interest in the journals. I think he’s actually kind of anxious to get the other ones. He said something about how we must correct history when we realize we’ve gotten it wrong. He sighted a bunch of examples from Muggle history mostly, which was kind of strange.”

Harry shook his head as if to clear out whatever he’d been thinking.

“Anyways, I think I might let him see the others,” Harry offered. “I keep forgetting that he hasn’t read them like I have. Well, when I say read…” 

Draco snorted. “The one person who can read them isn’t at all interested in them.”

An affronted look appeared on Harry’s face. “Who said I’m not interested? It’s just…I don’t need more attention put on me, okay?” 

“I know, oh, Famous Harry Potter,” Draco agreed, giving Harry a smirk. “Wait. Did you tell him who you really are?”

Harry blushed, but shook his head. “I’ve thought about it, but…I like him not knowing I’m…well, Harry Potter.”

“All right, so you’re still going to go forward and publish to the wider world? The first one at least?”

Harry moved towards his own bed. “Yeah.” 

“Are you going to let him see the second journal?”

“I think I’ll copy it and send it to him,” Harry said. “That’s what he told me to do, as he doesn’t want to charge me for the translation. If I use that spell, he’ll have to charge me. If he uses it himself, he doesn’t have to pay himself.”

“Okay. So, you’re going to go down there….”

Draco let the question trail off. He was not looking to accompany Harry through the drain pipes to the Chamber of Secrets. The last time he’d been down there, he’d almost got a ton of rocks on his head for his trouble. 

Harry slipped into his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He turned his green orbs towards Draco. 

“I dunno. Maybe this weekend? I need to feed Medusa,” Harry reminded Draco, hiding his yawn behind his hand.

“Mental,” Draco muttered. “You’ve got a pet snake. Who likes raw meat.”

“Cow. She likes cows,” Harry muttered, rolling away from Draco. “You don’t have to come along. I can go alone. She’s not going to eat me, remember?” 

Draco scoffed. “I know, oh, Insane One.”

Harry snorted, but didn’t turn back towards Draco. “I aim to please, Sardonic One.”


	8. I Just Read Your Letter

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

The day the news broke that Sirius Black had escaped from jail, Narcissa Malfoy went to the bank. If Sirius needed money, he knew he’d be able to go to Gingotts and the goblins wouldn’t turn him into the Ministry. Besides hating wizards, it was in the goblins best interest to allow a Black access to his gold and treasure his vaults. 

If the gold and treasure was simply sitting around gathering dust, it did the goblins no good.(Or at least that was what Narcissa thought. She really didn’t understand banking.) And if Narcissa’s gut was right, the gold and treasure in the Black Family vaults that had been gathering dust since Aunt Walburga had died in 1985 could possibly be set loose if Sirius controlled the vaults.

However, on the off chance Narcissa was wrong and Sirius did not control the vaults, and Draco or Harry did (or whoever Aunt Walburga had secretly put in charge), Sirius would be up the air without a broom. And while Narcissa had never been Sirius’s biggest fan, she had plans for him. 

So, she went to the bank to see who was in charge before Sirius had a chance to get to the bank from Azkaban. (Assuming he hadn’t managed to escape via some new form of teleportation to the bank or London…then again, he’d managed a feat no one had achieved till now, so who knew?) 

“And Lady Malfoy requests this information for what reason?” a goblin had asked that first morning she visited the bank glaring at her as if she’d committed the gravest insult to his person. 

“I want to know who is in control of the Black family vaults, being the last direct Black descendant still recognized by the family tree,” Narcissa replied in a controlled tone.  

The goblin had frowned, but did something behind the counter that made his eyes go large. He scurried off without a word only to return with an ancient looking goblin with paper like skin who stared at Narcissa for a long time before asking her to press her finger to a blank piece of parchment. Narrowing her eyes, she wondered if she ought to comply but pressed her index finger to the parchment figuring she had nothing to loose. 

She felt nothing, saw nothing and wondered for a moment if she’d failed the bizarre test. 

She’d clearly not as the ancient goblin appeared rather excited and said, “Well, you passed the first test. Follow me.”

She followed the goblin, who led her into the back where the plush offices were located. After she was seated and plied with tea, the goblin told her he had no idea who was in charge of the vaults, but he was the goblin in charge of the Black accounts. 

“You are the first Black to visit this bank since the last time I saw Orion Black,” the goblin said. 

Narcissa frowned. “My grandfather never came to the bank?”

“He did not. Did all his business the same way your great uncle did until his death a few years ago,” the goblin explained. “As did the others of that generation.”

Narcissa frowned, getting the feeling because the Blacks never visited the actual bank, they held no favor with the goblins. 

“The last time I saw your uncle, he informed me that if one of his blood relatives ever came asking who was in charge of the Black accounts, to show him or her to the family vaults belonging to his side of the family only.”

“I’m the first then?”

“Yes, you are, ma’am. The last Black to actually set foot in the bank was Orion Black till you breezed in when your son began school. Well, if you don’t count your sister.”

Narcissa knew he wasn’t referring to Bellatrix. She kept her composure and thought about what he’d told her. 

“I doubt the vault will let me in. I’m not a direct descendant of that branch of the family,” Narcissa said, sighing.

“Ah, doesn’t matter.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. 

“I am aware of that spell to keep other family members from the other side out, but Orion Black changed that the last time I saw him as well. Now only those who seek the truth are allowed within.”

“Really?”

The goblin extended his head and offered to show her to the vault. 

She traveled down into the bowels of the bank, passed the dragon and into the area where the oldest families had vaults. The Blacks had been one of the first families to set up accounts within Gringotts. 

Up until the vault allowed her access, she had not believed she’d be able to enter the vault, but it let her in— welcomed her in fact. She felt the hum of the magic all around her upon her entrance. It was warm and inviting— a welcome home. 

And so, she set about on her mission to find something, anything, that would help her figure out who was in charge of the family and what Uncle Orion had planned. He had clearly planned for something. So, week after week, Narcissa visited the bank and searched the never ending vault for anything that would point her in the correct direction or at least give her a clue. 

A nagging feeling began to eat at her mind the more she sifted through the various items contained in the vault. While many of the things were the typical magical items and gold, there were quite a few containers with enough parchment rolls to burry her alive. Some were family history in great detail (sometimes too much detail), while quite a few were attempts at novels.

Blacks weren’t meant to be writers. 

She’d been traveling to the vault for almost three months when she finally found something of worth. In a back, neglected corner of the vault, she unearthed a rather plain looking wooden box. Somehow thinking it must be a trick to make the box look unassuming, she picked it up and waited for it to transform into something more on parr with the other items in the vault.

It did not change. 

She studied it, turning it over in her hands. There was no key hole or any indication the box was locked. It wasn’t even humming with magic. 

It was in fact a PLAIN pine box.

She popped the lid off and peered inside. All that was inside was a few folded pieces of parchment that appeared to be official documents. Gasping, she pulled the top one off and slit it open. 

_Here is the Will and Testament of Regulus A Black…_

She stopped reading. 

“Reggie’s will?” she asked. Checking the date on the top, she realized Regulus had made the will shortly after his sixteenth birthday.

Shortly after he became a Death Eater.

“Oh, Reggie,” Narcissa sighed, reading over the will.

The only thing Reggie valued was the ancient House Elf named Kreacher, who had never returned from a mission Bellatrix had volunteered the poor thing for to do for the Dark Lord. He’d left the elf to Atlanta D. Black. 

Tragically, that Atlanta Black had met her death around the same time Regulus had met his. So, it did not matter he’d left the elf to the woman. Elf and woman were gone— just like Regulus. 

Narcissa read the remaining aspects of the will and smiled.

Regulus left everything that was his to Sirius (other than the elf). Any titles he’d held, positions, and money went to Sirius upon Regulus’ death.

Thus, upon dying, Sirius had been reinstated heir.

Granted, Orion could have overridden this in his own will…Orion’s will had never been read to the family and after he was found dead, Aunt Walburga refused to speak of any of the former males in her life and descended into madness. 

Setting the parchment aside, she pulled out the next piece of parchment and felt her eyes go wide, realizing it was what she had truly been looking for: Uncle Orion’s will. 

With shaking hands, she open the sealed will. 

“I knew it, I knew it,” she hissed eyes greedily reading over the parchment in her hands. 

Smiling, she read exactly what she wished to read in Uncle Orion’s will. 

He had not disinherited Sirius Orion Black, his eldest son. 

Sirius had never _not_ been the heir. 

Upon the death of his father, Sirius had automatically became Head of Family and to this day remained Head of the Family.

Orion went into detail in his will how he believed Sirius could take the Black family into the next generation and bring it back to its former glory. 

Orion believed in Sirius. He actually respected his eldest son’s views on the wizarding world. 

His will made it clear he had known his wife would disinherit Sirius at some point, but he made it clear he did not comply. 

Narcissa felt herself smiling like mad. She folded up the parchment and slipped it into her cloak pocket. She would have the goblin in charge look over the will and verify it, but she was positive this was Orion Black’s real will. Why he had stored it and his youngest son’s will in a plain pine box was confusing, but near the time of his death, Orion Black was rather paranoid.

Though, why he put these important things in a box unguarded by magic and without a lock was a bit odd. 

Narcissa was about to stand and leave, when she realized there was something else in the box. It was written on something strange. She carefully extracted the thin, flimsy material. It took her a moment to realize it was Muggle paper. It was yellowed and brittle with age, so she carefully smoothed it out and saw it wasn’t written on, but printed in tiny block letters that resembled what one found in books. 

Now very confused and curious, she settled down to read the letter. 

_To Whom finds this Letter:_

_I have been operating the past several years under the assumption that one day Tom Riddle will come for me and end my life in order to protect his secret._

_Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort._

_I was at Hogwarts with him, three years behind him._

_I am the last of his schoolmates still alive and aware he operated under the nome de plume of Lord Voldemort. Most of our remaining schoolmates do not know the handsome, charming Tom Riddle is the terrorist Lord Voldemort._

_I have worked tirelessly behind the scenes to uncover what he is up to. With the help of my son, Regulus, we have discovered Lord Voldemort is working towards immortality. Tonight, my son has gone to his death in the fight to prevent this from happening._

_Riddle has made horcurxes, many of them I believe. Regulus knows of two. One he’s gone to destroy and one is in the procession of Albus Dumbledore. Regulus and I believe Riddle entrusted Bellatrix Lastrange with another, a cup of some sort._

_There might be more._

_While I was in school, Riddle requested a book from the Black Family library, which no one in the Black Family has ever been able to read. Riddle was able to read this book. I finally was able to recently find someone who would be able to translate it. He wrote back he was unwilling to translate it due to the nature of what was in the book. I requested he tell me the nature, as I was worried someone who could read the book had read it and was using the knowledge._

_He quickly told me the book was all about horcurxes and asked me who I’d loaned the book to. I refused to tell him, knowing it was my fault Lord Voldemort would never die. Riddle had been reluctant to return the book to me and only did so when I told him the curse upon the book if it was discovered by my grandfather as missing. Two days later, he gave me the book back, yet I was sure he made a copy of it somehow— even though there was a spell against copying anything out of the book, like all books in the Black family library._

_I’m very worried this book allowed him to realize he could make more than one horcrux. There are plenty of readable books Riddle could have gotten to make one, but no books on what will happen to you if you attempt it more than once. I doubt it occurred to anyone before Riddle to make more than one._

_I have included newspaper clippings and a list with this letter. Look for a mark left on certain victims. The ones chosen to be horcrux deaths will all bare the same mark, Riddle’s true mark._

_Hopefully this information will be helpful._

_Good luck._

_Orion C Black_

Narcissa let the paper fall from her hands and searched for the news articles. Finding them under a secret flap in the box (maybe this box wasn’t so plain?) she quickly scanned each one. There were no photos, just the reports about the deaths of Julian Westinburgh, Zane Prince and Artimis Goyle. 

The three horcruxes they knew about— were these the deaths Riddle used to make them? 

She tried to search a mention of a mark but found none. Frustrated, she pushed that aside and prodded and scratched the box till she found another compartment. In it was a list of names. Orion had a system he used to mark the names, but she didn’t understand it right away. She figured when the name was crossed off it meant the person was dead.

Some of the names were color-coded in red, green, blue and black. After reading the names closer, she realized the colors denoted Hogwarts houses. 

Almost all the green names had a line through them. 

The three names in the articles had a special mark next to them, though: a little letter ‘H.’ 

Narcissa frowning, she put everything back into the plain pine box and stood. Tucking the box under her arm, she hurried out of the vault. She had a lot of work to do and had almost no real idea what she was looking for…or where to begin really. 

Not that was anything new. It seemed, as of late, when one question was answered about a hundred more popped up wanting to be answered. 


	9. At Sixes and Sevens

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Nott continued to channel Prat Draco. He pulled the exact same stunt Draco had executed when he’d returned from his injuries inflicted from insulting the hippogriff. Late Thursday, while the Gryffindors and Slytherins were halfway through double Potions, Nott strolled into the classroom with his arm covered in bandages and in a sling. His fellow Slytherins jumped to attention and began to cause a great deal of fuss at his appearance. (Well, other than Blaise’s group, who continued to work as if no one had entered the room.) Nott behaved throughout the entire thing as if he’d survived a battle as the hero. The only thing that broke the whole charade was the fact occasionally Draco caught Nott winking at Crabbe and Goyle. 

“Settle down, settle down,” Snape idly said after Nott had been causing chaos for at least ten minutes. 

Harry and Draco exchanged looks over their bubbling cauldrons. 

“Mr Nott, please find a seat,” Snape said, flapping his hand in the general direction of a few empty seats. 

Nott heaved his bag onto his shoulder and with the aid of Pansy Parkinson took the empty spot between Harry and Draco. Parkinson sneered and begged Nott to join her at her table, but Nott waved her off. Harry tensed up as Nott settled into his seat and Parkinson flounced off, but Draco rolled his eyes.

Did Time not allow Nott to have an original idea? Was Draco’s role in the events last time around so important that Theodore Nott had a whole new personality and turned into a clone of Draco the Utter Ponce? 

Harry set his mouth and went back to painstakingly cutting up his ingredients. He put his whole attention onto the roots he was cutting, ignoring Nott, who was pretending to be confused and helpless when faced with his own ingredient prep. 

“Sir,” Nott called out. “I’ll need help with my roots. My arm…”

He made a half hearted attempt to lift the arm up.

“Potter, cut up Nott’s roots,” Snape ordered.

Harry’s jaw locked and his teeth ground together loudly enough Draco heard it. Harry lifted his eyes up off his own roots and stared at Nott.

“There is nothing wrong with your arm,” Harry ground out.

Draco grabbed Nott’s roots and began to carefully chop them up. 

“There is too. Look, it’s in a sling,” Nott said, not noticing Draco was cutting the roots. Nott grinned and stuck his nose in the air a little. “You heard the professor. Cut my roots— hey, where’d…”

“Here,” Draco said, shoving the pile of neatly chopped roots at Nott. 

Nott pressed his lips together as his ears turned brilliant red.

“Well, Malfoy, if you like preparing my ingredients so much, shave my shivelfig.”

Draco did just that. 

And it seemed to make Nott’s ears even more red, yet he said nothing. He almost looked as if he was too angry at Draco for aiding him in his time of need to form words. 

Harry hid a grin behind his hand, then bowed his head over his own cauldron. Draco finished shaving the shivelfig and went back to his own work. Nott was quiet for a long time, till his need to be a git got in the way of the peace and quiet.

“So, Potter, seen your pal Hagrid?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m afraid he won’t be a teacher much longer. Father’s not very happy about my injury,” Nott lamented.

“I thought he’d be thrilled,” Draco drawled, dumping in his next ingredient. The cauldron hissed and the potion began to turn a faint orange. “Son gets mere scratch and acts like a big baby. Bet it was his proudest mo— oh, wait. You said he wasn’t happy to realize his son is a huge, pathetic waste of space who can’t even live through a scratch without causing a scene and wailing. Can’t handle a little pain, can you Nott?”

Nott turned brick red— ears, face and neck. 

It seemed when one made Nott very, very mad he turned red. 

Draco learned something new this afternoon. Brilliant. The lesson had been such a bore till Nott turned up. 

“My father has a lot of influence at the Ministry, unlike your father,” Nott spat out, spit flying out of the corners of his mouth. “My father plans to exact revenge for the failure at teaching here.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Does he now? I bet that’ll go a little better for him than it went for my father. Or, maybe not? Revenge is a dish best served cold, right? Or is that ice cream?”

Harry was trying so hard not to laugh out loud, he was banging his forehead on the rim of his cauldron. 

“Your father miscalculated and didn’t work within the system,” Nott sneered. “My father knows the system and how to work it without throwing gold all over.”

“Does he?” Draco asked, widening his eyes. “Golly gee, that’s just great. Do you want me to cut up your caterpillars? I don’t think you’ll be able to with that arm. Here, gimme.”

Draco grabbed the caterpillars from Nott’s pile of stuff and began to cut them. He wanted for the anger and injustice to swell, but he felt nothing of the sort. His father had made a stupid decision and was currently paying the price. He’d gotten away with it (kind of) the first time around, but this time around he was paying in a manner that clearly wounded his pride far earlier than he had the first time around. He’d lost what little influence he’d had within the Ministry and Hogwarts this time around and not just within the ranks of the Death Eaters.

Influence was everything per Lucius Malfoy. 

Draco briefly looked up to find Nott was still red and scowling deeply and felt some glee at annoying Nott to such an extreme. 

Draco began to hum as he worked, carefully choosing a tune Nott would be sure to remember. Draco glanced up to see Nott twitching a little and grinned larger. He was about to shove the cut up caterpillars to Nott when Neville decided it was high time to remind the room he was in it, as from somewhere behind Draco several high pitch noises issued and Snape snapped, “Orange, Longbottom! The potion is supposed to be orange right now!” 

Draco turned around to find Snape ladling some of Neville’s potion up and allowing the entire class to see Neville’s potion was bright, acid green and not orange. The green potion splashed back into the cauldron. 

“Orange. Do you know what the looks like?” Snape went on. “Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

Neville was bright pink and trembling. He was unable to speak. The silence in the classroom became pressing. 

“Sir?” Draco ventured when he realized why the room was silent. There was no Granger to swoop in and save Neville. No Weasley to loose his temper on Neville’s behave and no Potter to join in. “I could help him put it right.”

Snape turned slowly and glared at Draco, yet said nothing. Since he didn’t object, Draco picked up his own cauldron and headed for Neville’s table. He set it back down and hurried back to get the rest of his things and shoot Harry a look of apology for leaving him alone with Nott. 

“Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of your Shrinking Solution to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly,” Snape snapped as Draco sat down on the other side Neville. “Let’s hope Mr Malfoy knows what he’s doing.”

Snape turned around and moved away, leaving Neville hyperventilating. 

“Calm down, Nev,” Draco soothed. “We’ll set this right. Can’t be that hard to get from green to orange, right?”

Neville shook in his shoes.

* * *

By the end of the lesson, the potion was orange. Draco’s hair was damp and matted to his forehead and he was pretty sure he’d loose his pinkie fingernail on his left hand at some point (it had turned black after some of the green potion had slashed on it), but the potion was orange. When Snape fed it to the toad, the toad shrunk to a tadpole and lived to escape another day. 

Just like the first time around. Draco grinned as Snape scowled at the tadpole in his hand and Neville appeared as if he was going to collapse at any second. 

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Snape said, which caused the grin to slip off Draco’s face. 

Snape gave no reasoning for this point deduction, simply glared at everyone and swept out of the room after returning Trevor the Escape Artist to his former size. 

Harry and Draco headed for the Entrance Hall as quickly as their feet would take them. Draco realized something was off with Harry as they neared the top of the stairs. 

“What’s eating you?”

“Huh?”

“Well, you’re not bad mouthing Snape or telling me how unfair he is,” Draco commented. “So, what’s up?”

“Just something Nott said after you went to help Neville,” Harry admitted. “Seamus told me they reckon Sirius Black’s been sighted.”

Draco nodded.

“Not too far from here,” Harry continued. “Some Muggle saw him so she called the hotline. The Muggles, you know, think he’s just an ordinary criminal, not a mad wizard killer.”

“He’s not,” Draco reminded Harry. “What did Nott say?”

“He was real keen on the idea of me catching Black myself,” Harry explained as the boys made their way through the pre-lunch crowds. “He said if it were him, he’d done something before now. He wouldn’t be staying in school like a good little boy. He’d go looking for Black.”

“Harry, do you remember why people think Black is after you?”

Harry paused, then nodded.

“All right. Let me guess, Nott said he’d want to get revenge? Seemed to be on his mind,” Draco muttered. He went on before Harry could answer. “People think Sirius was the one to tell Marv where your parents and yourself were hiding. People think the reason your parents are dead is because of what Sirius told Marv. If this were true, wouldn’t you want to get him? He was your dad’s best mate and he traded sides, fooled everyone and went Dark. Wouldn’t that make you mad?”

Draco carefully watched Harry. The brilliant green eyes darted back and forth for a moment and a frown appeared on his face.

“Okay, wait a second. If I believe you, then Black didn’t do anything wrong, right?”

Draco nodded.

“So, what Nott and everyone else thinks is just a bunch of…malarkey,” Harry said.

Draco snorted. “Yeah. A bunch of malarkey.”

“But, if you are wrong and Sirius Black actually did everything people think he did…I’d be…”

Harry trailed off and turned away from Draco, staring off into space.

“If I am wrong, you’d want to do exactly what Nott wants you to do: go off and get yourself killed.”

Harry turned back to Draco with a helpless look on his face.

“Draco, you have no proof,” Harry reminded him. “You have a theory, but nothing more.”

“The Ministry has no proof Sirius did anything he’s accused of either,” Draco reminded Harry in turn. “What does your gut want to believe? That the man your parents made your godfather betrayed them or that maybe he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and got framed?”

“But, why didn’t he escape before now if he was innocent? Wouldn’t he…”

Draco waited, but Harry never finished his thought. 

“Well? Why did he wait till now to escape?” Harry asked again, looking up at Draco.

Draco had often wondered exactly what had caused Sirius to finally escape when he did, but he’d never really figured it out. He knew it was to do with the rat. Something between Sirius and the rat caused the rat to make a break for it and go to Marv.

It would make sense, knowing Pettigrew’s ratty personality, once Sirius was loose, he’d go after the rat to make him pay for what he’d done, but why did Sirius pick this year of all the years to choose from to track down the rat? 

Wait a second…how’d Sirius figure out where the rat was located?  

“Oh!” Draco breathed, a realization dawning. “Didn’t Weasley say his rat went peaky in Egypt?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, frowning.

“He did!” Hermione shouted in Draco’s ear. 

Draco jumped, whirling around to find Hermione standing behind him.

“Where’d you come from?” Harry asked, staring at her with big eyes. “I swear you weren’t there a second ago.”

“Tosh,” Hermione said, looking at Harry as if he was batty. She turned to Draco, her face shifting to show excitement. “Weasley did mention his pet rat went peaky whilst in Egypt! That’s why he was at the pet store buying the tonic, remember? I don’t think it is helping. Scabbers still appears to be sickly and Weasley is still complaining about how Egypt messed with his rat.”

Draco’s eyes darted back and forth between Hermione’s. 

“What?” Harry asked impatiently. “I thought the Weasley’s weren’t…well, I thought…where…”

Harry failed miserably at stating the fact the Weasleys had a lot of kids and not a lot of money. 

“OH!” Draco shouted suddenly. “His father won a bunch of gold this summer and they used it for a holiday! The photo was in the paper!” 

He’d seen it. He’d muttered something about history repeating itself and his mother thought he was coming down with some sort of magical flu. 

“Was the…er, rat in the photo?” Hermione asked.

“Why would that matter? Why does any of this—” Harry started.

“HE SAW THE RAT!” Draco shouted, making everyone within a hundred feet stare at him. 

Draco grabbed Hermione and Harry and dragged them into an empty classroom. Once the door was shut and the room was protected by silencing spells, Draco began to explain. 

“Okay, Sirius is innocent, but because of the fact he’s in hell with the dementors, he has no drive to escape. Also, if he’s like my mother says he is and the rat did betray him and his friends, he likely thinks it is somehow his own fault, so he thinks he belongs there. But, he saw the photo when the Weasley’s won the gold. The rat was in it and Sirius knew who the rat happened to be! And…oh! It makes sense! They said before he escaped, Sirius kept muttering, ‘He’s at Hogwarts.’ They assumed he meant Harry, but seriously, he’d know Harry was at Hogwarts. Where else would Harry be? OR! How did he even know? Harry Potter went missing to the wizarding world after that…er, night. And nothing announced your return! So, why would Black randomly decide you were at Hogwarts? I doubt he knows what year it is! Or…why randomly decide to care after the past three years of you being here?”

“Draco, you sound slightly…” Hermione trailed off, unsure what to say.

“Mental? Daft? Insane? Crazy? A complete nutter? At sixes and sevens?” Harry helpfully offered. 

“At sixes and sevens?” Draco asked, staring at Harry in confusion. 

Hermione huffed. “Honestly.”

“I heard my uncle use it once,” Harry offered. He turned to Hermione and said, “But…he’s kind of right. I mean, the rat was in the photo. I saw it and remember wondering why the rat was trying to eat Weasley’s hat.”

Hermione stared at Harry for a long beat, then looked at Draco. Her mouth suddenly set into a flat line. 

“Be back,” Hermione abruptly announced, dashing out the door.

“Where she’s going?” Harry asked, whirling around. 

“Library. Where else would she go in a crisis?” Draco asked, waving his wand and undoing the spells on the room. “So, you believe me?”

“I don’t know. I…I don’t know, Draco,” Harry admitted. “How would Black have gotten a paper in jail? They just don’t hand them out, do they?” 

“No. Most of the people there are insane and unlikely to read a paper. Maybe someone dropped it? I don’t think they are really locked up in the same sense Muggles lock criminals up. We’ve got dementors,” Draco reminded Harry. 

Harry shifted on his feet and tightened his grip on his school bag. “But, they say the dementors don’t effect Black.”

“They do?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Heard that where?”

“From Nott,” Harry admitted. “He said Fudge told his dad. I guess they are best mates or something.”

Draco snorted. “Well, I don’t know if they effect him or not, but even if they didn’t drive him…to sixes and sevens to use your own term for bonkers, they still would have drained him of energy. They do that to anyone. Even Muggles.”

Harry frowned deeply. 

“So, DADA this afternoon?” Draco asked changing topics and steering Harry out of the classroom. “I’ve only heard good things about Lupin.”


	10. Telling Fears

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Professor Lupin wasn’t in the classroom when Draco and Harry arrived. The two boys grabbed seats somewhat in the middle and joined the rest of their classmates in getting out their quills, parchments and books. 

“What do you think our first lesson’ll be?” Harry asked. “He seemed to know his stuff on the train. And from what Fred and George were telling me, their first lesson was really exciting.” 

“Really?” Draco asked as Professor Lupin entered the room. 

The room fell into a hushed silence as Lupin tossed his battered briefcase on the desk and gave the class a vague smile. While this version of Lupin wasn’t dressed in shabby robes thanks to the relatively well paying and constant employment he’d enjoyed this time around, he was still a werewolf and he still bore the signs of the rough transformations in premature lines and pre-maturely greying hair. But, it had been a few days since the last full moon, so the man appeared to be in better health than he’d been on the train. 

“Good afternoon,” a hoarse voice greeted the class. Lupin’s amber eyes swept over the eager faces. “Would you please put all your books back in your bags? Today’s lesson will be practical. You’ll only needs your wands.”

A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their belongings.

“We’ve never had a practical lesson before,” Neville worried from somewhere behind Draco. 

Seamus Finnigan snorted to Draco’s left. “Unless you count the Cornish pixies.”

A few other snickers swept through the room, mostly covered by the noise made by putting books and parchment back into bags.

“Right then,” Professor Lupin said, looking around at the now cleared desks. “If you’d all follow me, please.”

Puzzled but clearly interested, the class got to its feet and followed the greying professor out of the room. He didn’t ask them to fall into single file, but for some reason this was a natural occurrence among school children. Harry and Draco found themselves near the front of the line. Lupin was quiet as he wound his way through the empty corridors till they came across Peeves. The poltergeist was floating upside down midair and busy stuffing what appeared to be chewing gum into a keyhole of a classroom.

Draco eyed Lupin, waiting for him to stop Peeves, but Lupin acted as if he couldn’t see the poltergeist. Said poltergeist didn’t bother to notice the group heading for him till they were about two feet away. His eyes lit up at the sight of Lupin and he quickly righted himself and broke into song.

“Loony, loopy Lupin!” Peeve sang out. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin!”

Draco gasped along with a few others in the class. While Peeves was known for being downright rude, he usually wasn’t rude to professors. He showed them a tiny bit of respect. Draco peaked at Lupin, who was wearing a pleasant, yet vague expression on his face while he slowly came to a stop, the single file line following him gathering around to see how he’d handle Peeves.

“I’d take that gum out of that keyhole if I were you, Peeves,” Lupin said as if he were simply talking to a friend of his who was doing something dumb. “I believe that’s a broom cupboard, is it not?”

Peeve blew a rather loud and wet raspberry at Lupin and went back to stuffing the gum into the keyhole. 

Lupin heaved a small sigh and raised his wand.

“This is a useful little spell,” he informed the class gathered around him. “Please watch closely.”

Harry’s eyes went large as Lupin lifted his wand up to shoulder height and said, “ _Waddisasi_!”

Draco’s jaw dropped (along with many others) as the wad of gum shot out of the keyhole with the force of a firecracker. It headed straight at Peeves and shot up his nose. Peeves rolled over in midair, cussing loudly before he fell through a wall and out of view. 

“Cool, sir,” Dean Thomas breathed.

“Thank you, Dean,” Lupin pleasantly said, putting his wand into his sleeve. “Shall we proceed?”

The group set off eagerly. Draco noted the few who hadn’t been aware of Lupin’s actions on the train were now looking at the new professor with increased respect. 

Lupin came to a halt outside the staffroom. Harry sent Draco a questioning look as Lupin opened the door and directed them all inside. The group eagerly went inside. Draco and Harry hung near the back of the room, having visited the room before. The novelty of the staffroom had long worn off. 

“Looks the same,” Harry whispered as Lupin entered the room and made to shut the door.

“Leave it open,” came Snape’s voice from one of the mismatched chairs facing the fire. “I’d rather not witness this.”

Snape rose from the chair and snapped his book shut, glaring at the gathered class before scowling in distaste at Professor Lupin. 

“Possibly no one’s warned you, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult.”

Neville went scarlet and stared at his shoes. Harry glared at Snape, clenching his hands into fists. Lupin, though, simply raised his eyebrows up.

“I was hoping Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation, actually,” Lupin said, “and I am sure he’ll perform admirably.”

Something was rippling under the surface between the two men. Draco studied them both, but was unable to figure out what was going on. In the past (or future) it was Snape who spilled the beans on what Lupin happened to be and the darker man had gotten great joy out of letting that bit of information slip. It was as close to gleeful Draco had ever seen his godfather. Draco hadn’t thought much on it at the time. He was simply thrilled to be able to get rid of yet another DADA teacher. He’d written home right away and complained. That summer, once again, his father had attempted to get rid of Dumbledore for knowingly hiring a werewolf. 

“Oh, will he?” Snape snarled then swept out of the room, banging the door shut behind him. 

Lupin looked unruffled and simply turned to the red faced Neville. “Now, then, Neville, come with me.”

Lupin put a firm hand on Neville’s shoulder and steered him to a wardrobe— the same one Harry and Draco had hidden in the previous year instead of going back to their dormitories as they’d been told to do. Due to the fact Draco and Harry hung out in the wardrobe, they wound up going down into the Chamber of Secrets so Harry could have a go at playing hero.

The wardrobe gave a wobble.

“Nothing to worry about,” Lupin said over the gasps of shock. “There’s a boggart in there.”

“Oh—” Draco began to exclaim loudly but halted when the entire room stared at him. He gave a sheepish smile and took a step backwards thankful he hadn’t finished his sentance. 

“Do you know what a boggart is, Draco?” Lupin asked.

Harry mouthed the word boggart and looked at Draco in question. 

“Er, yes. I do. They are…dark creatures who like dark, enclosed spaces. They hide out in all sorts of places— wardrobes, under beds, cupboards under sinks…we had one lodged inside this tiny chest my mother kept the jewelry she hated.”

A ripple of snickers went through the group again.

“Correct, Draco. Does anyone now what a boggart really looks like?” Lupin asked, glancing around the group. No one moved to answer, so Lupin turned to Draco again. There was something in his eyes as he studied Draco before asking, “Do you happen to know, Draco?”

“Well, boggarts are shape-shifters. No one knows what they really look like because each time you see one it takes on whatever might frighten you the most. Alone in the dark, they are in their true form, but we can’t see them in the dark.”

“Correct,” Lupin said. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, I’ve asked Professor Dumbledore to leave this one here for my third years to practice on.”

Several people took a step backwards.

“Now, when I let this one out, he will immediately become whatever each of us fears the most. Can any of you see the huge advantage we have over the boggart even before we begin? Have you spotted it, Harry?”

Harry gave a start.

“Er— because there’s so many of us, it won’t know what shape to take?”

“Precisely,” Lupin praised. Harry’s cheeks tinged pink. “It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a boggart. He’ll become confused. Which should he be? A headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake— tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into headless slug. Not remotely frightening. Mostly just slimy.” 

Several people nodded, while a few still didn’t look too sure.

“The charm to repel a boggart is simple, yet requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. So, you must force it to assume a shape you find amusing.”

Draco gripped his wand. The first time around, his boggart took on the shape of some sort of monster he’d heard about as a child. This time, it wouldn’t take on that because he’d seen so much more since he’d been thirteen the first time around. Draco was certain the boggart would take on the shape of Voldemort after he’d returned from the dead— the white snake face, the red eyes, impossibly tall skeletal form and cold, high pitch voice.

“Draco?”

The cackling, cold laughter with just the tinge of joy when casting the torture curse again and again. The maniacal gleam in the red eyes…those bony, white fingers gripping the wand…that insanely mad expression on the snake face. He had no lips, so it couldn’t be called a smile, could it? 

“DRACO!”

Harry was shaking him. The entire class was suddenly staring at the pair.

“Are you all right, Draco?” Lupin asked, looking concerned.

“Fine. Sorry,” Draco said. “I know the charm. _Riddikulus_.”

Lupin nodded. “Yes, very good.”

The wardrobe shook again loudly behind the professor and made Neville, who was still standing near it, jump and squeak. This took Lupin’s attention off of Draco and put it back to the matter at hand: tackling the boggart. Draco backed away as Lupin went on explaining what was going to happen and went about asking Neville what frightened him. Harry followed. 

“What’s wrong, really?” Harry whispered as they stood a good distance away from the group. 

“I’m not sure I should tackle the boggart,” Draco admitted, wondering what everyone’s reaction would be if Lord Voldemort were to appear in the room. A Lord Voldemort who’d yet come to be, as Draco was sure the man didn’t look like a snake the first time around. The snake aspect came from what was within the man. 

Like, if he were to become an Animagi, he’d be a snake— not a cat, hamster, or bunny.

Well, there was an amusing image: Lord Voldemort as a bunny. 

Draco threw his hand over his mouth the cover his laughter, though he really didn’t need to as in the front of the wardrobe was Professor Snape wearing a green dress and vulture-topped hat. The crowning glory, though, was the big red handbag he was suddenly carrying. 

“Good job, Neville!” Lupin shouted over the roar of laughter. 

Harry whirled around as Patel hurried up to take her turn at the boggart. 

“What are you afraid of?” Draco asked Harry suddenly. 

“Bunnies,” Harry whispered. Draco choked on his laughter again as the image of a frightened Harry running away from the bunny version of Marv entered his mind. “Though, I think I’m more frightened of dementors now that I know about them. They trump a bunny any day. Even if they lack twitchy noses.” Harry shuddered, then turned to Draco. “You?”

“Marv. The version we met first year, not the one you met last year,” Draco quickly added. 

“He wasn’t scary, the teenage one. Just…twisted,” Harry admitted. “Yeah, Snake Face Marv is pretty scary.”

Draco nodded his agreement. The two boys stood at the back of the group, carefully avoiding moving forward to take their own turn at the boggart. 

No one seemed to notice, as they were all too busy laughing and gasping at what the boggart became each time a new student came forward. It became a bloody mummy who unraveled, a screaming banshee who lost her voice, a single bloody eyeball, a rattle snake, a severed hand, a howling ghost who suddenly began to sing show tunes terribly out of tune…then suddenly became what appeared to be a combination of a Muggle zombie and a ballerina. 

“It’s confused!” Lupin shouted. “We’re getting there!”

“Who hasn’t gone?” Dean called out. “Draco!”

Someone pushed Draco forward and he began to panic. Images of Voldemort at the height of his power during his second reign of terror filled Draco’s mind. He tried to think of something else he was frightened of but nothing came to mind. 

“Here!”

There was a loud crack shortly after Draco was faced with the boggart. Instead of taking on the shape of Voldemort, the boggart turned into what appeared to be a full moon. Draco looked up at Lupin who lazily cast the spell and the moon turned into a cockroach, who didn’t seem to have legs.

“Neville finish him off,” Lupin said, grabbing the immobile Draco and moving him out of the way. 

Neville charged forward, looking determined as he shouted, “Riddikulus!”

There was another crack and Snape in a dress reappeared and Neville let out a great big laugh and the boggart exploded into a thousand tiny whips of smoke.

“Excellent!” cried Professor Lupin, still gripping Draco’s shoulder. “Excellent, Neville. And well done everyone else. Let me see…five points to Gryffindor for every person who tackled the boggart— ten for Neville who did it twice. Oh, and five for Draco and Harry for answering my questions earlier.”

The class looked thrilled.

“Excellent lesson, everyone. Homework, kindly read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me…to be handed in on Monday. That’ll be all.”

The rest of the class began to leave, but Lupin still had a solid grip on Draco’s shoulder. 

“Harry, you go on. I wish to speak to Draco alone for a moment. Nothing to worry about,” Lupin said.

Harry looked at Draco, who nodded. He was pretty sure he had a feeling what Lupin wanted to speak to him about. 

Harry grabbed his school bag off the ground and followed the last student out of the room, closing the door behind him. The moment it closed, Lupin let go of Draco’s shoulder. He waved his wand at the door and Draco heard the noise of the hall muffle.

“So no one interrupts,” Lupin explained, moving to stand in front of Draco. 

Draco took a deep breath and waited. Lupin studied him again through narrowed amber eyes. 

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Lupin quietly asked. 

“Who?” Draco asked, deciding to play dumb for the moment. He’d been waiting to be caught out by Remus Lupin. While he had managed to make an easy transition with his mother, Lupin was a whole different story. 

Draco had been extremely rude to Lupin as a child. Basically, Draco had behaved how one would expect him to behave towards a servant. Lupin had never been that bothered by Draco’s behavior and simply ignored him. 

“You’ve been different these past few years,” Lupin admitted, still studying Draco carefully. “The night I met Atlanta D. Black for the first time, I was told she was shouting for Malfoy. The Malfoy my friends and I knew had graduated some six years before she appeared. There was also the small problem the girl was clearly not from here.”

Draco stopped breathing.

“As time wore on, it became clear to me, while she let everyone believe she was simply crazy, she was not in fact a mad hatter, but was from the future. Tom has confirmed this recently and informed I ought to be on the lookout for a Draco Malfoy,” Lupin explained.

“Who? Who is Tom?”

“Tom doesn’t matter at the moment,” Lupin quickly said. “The fact is, you are Draco Malfoy, but you are no longer the Draco Malfoy I was acquainted with, correct?”

Draco stared at the older man, wondering what he ought to do. It’d been easy when Hermione had figured him out last year, but this was totally different. Lupin hadn’t outright said, “You are from the future, Draco Malfoy! You’re a time traveller.” 

And the book the one Atlanta D. Black had pointed him clearly stated on the first page not to tell people he was from the future. 

“You’re the one who sent the Atlanta I knew the last two years I was a student at Hogwarts into the past, aren’t you?”

“Er…I…um…”

Lupin appeared to be frustrated as Draco uttered one syllable sounds. 

“I…er….uh….I…”

“I know the book said not to tell people you are a time traveller, but I’ve figured it out,” Lupin said shortly. “Am I right?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered, steeling himself. 

Lupin didn’t say anything. He stared, his amber eyes burning into Draco’s grey ones. 

“So, er, now what, sir?” Draco asked after ten minutes in which Lupin simply stared at him. 

Lupin sat down hard in one of the chairs and clenched the arms tightly enough to make the chair creak, yet did not take his eyes off Draco. 

“I don’t know,” Lupin admitted. “I…it was…you were so….different so suddenly.”

“I tried hard not to be,” Draco admitted, staring at the ground. He felt very exposed suddenly. “Did she ever tell you? Atlanta? Lanta?”

“I called her Addy, but everyone else called her Lanta,” Lupin said, his voice getting quieter with each word. “You really are…someone else.”

“I am Draco Malfoy,” Draco stated, hardening his eyes. “I had a slightly different childhood and seventeen years of life before I went back to being eleven, but I am still Draco Malfoy.”

“Eleven. Right before you began at Hogwarts,” Lupin breathed, looking amazed. “How did…do you know how…”

“I sent the other Atlanta to the seventies? No. I don’t. She was chasing me…trying to get me to…I’m not sure, if I’m honest. Things blurred and there was a lot of…pain in the moments before I woke up eleven.” 

Lupin nodded, but clenched chair till his fingers sunk into the upholstery. He didn’t seem to notice he was becoming one with the chair via his hands.  

“Anything else?” Draco asked. 

“I assure you I won’t tell anyone,” Lupin said. “I know the Ministry would love to get their hands on someone like you— someone who knows the future.”

“I don’t really,” Draco admitted. “I’ve been changing things. While some things are fixed, I don’t know what is fixed or what is going to happen. I know you might not put much stock in this, but Sherlock informed me I’ve erased the future I knew when I went back to being eleven.”

“Sherlock?” Lupin looked at Draco as if he had three heads. 

“I mean the Sorting Hat,” Draco said, hiding his face in his hands. “The Hat told Harry last year he wanted to be called Sherlock.”

Lupin blinked a few times, but said nothing.

“Anyways, the longer I’m here, I think the less I know what really might happen. Plus, last time…I wasn’t…”

“Friends with Harry,” Lupin filled in. “When Atlanta told me that, said she’d met Harry Potter…and that you were friends with him, I felt…I wondered. Then last year…”

Lupin trailed off.

“Last year what?”

Lupin suddenly noticed he was trying to commune with the chair and quickly removed his hands, blushing a little at the destruction. He waved his wand and fixed the mess before he spoke again. 

“You spoke to me politely. You weren’t…the posh little git I had expected. And you…seemed a little too mature for a twelve-year-old who had been raised as a Malfoy.”

Draco sighed, looking away. “That is what set Hermione off. Me not acting my age.”

“She guessed?”

Draco nodded.

“Does Harry know?”

Draco shook his head. “I told him after first year— after we faced off against Voldemort and Quirrell. He asked me, flat out if I was a time traveller and I told him yes.”

“He didn’t believe you?”

“Nope.”

Lupin hummed. “Do you think he’ll guess that again?”

“I don’t know. I know he knows something is…off about me. I have a feeling by the end of this year, he might figure it out.”

Lupin nodded. He didn’t look happy, but he had read the book so he knew Draco shouldn’t flat out tell Harry. 

“Draco, I have just one other question.”

“Yes, Professor Lupin?”

“Do you happen to know if Sirius Black is innocent?”

Draco studied the man in front of him, who was not meeting his eye. The man before him had lost everything he had held dear in a single night. Voldemort had taken all his friends in some way that very night. Turned the rat into a traitor, Sirius into a prisoner and murder, and killed the Potters. 

And even before that, he’d lost Addy Black, likely through Voldemort as she’d vanished around the same time as Regulus Black, who Draco knew was killed because he’d attempted to back out of the Death Eater movement. 

Then, Voldemort stole his only child and replaced her with something of his own creation. 

If anyone needed some good news, it was Professor Lupin. 

“Yeah. He didn’t do it,” Draco admitted. “That’s all I know, really…that he’s innocent of the crimes he was imprisoned for. After that, I’ve only got theories…”

Kind of a lie, but informing Hermione of everything he knew was one thing: Draco knew pretty much what Hermione’s role in the future was. Lupin’s was a wild card because Draco knew next to nothing about Remus J. Lupin. The one thing, besides the whole werewolf thing, Draco knew was the night Sirius and the hippogriff both managed to escape was the night before Snape let Lupin’s secret slip. 

That had to be important. And not only because Lupin managed to not meet some sort of painful end while still a teacher. 

“Why do you think he escaped, if you don’t know?”

“I think Sirius saw…something.”

Lupin leveled Draco with a look Draco was positive Lupin would never level an actual thirteen-year-old with. 

“I believe he found out where Peter Pettigrew went after he faked his own death,” Draco all but shouted and then bit down hard on his lower lip.

“Peter Pettigrew? Faked his own death?” Lupin asked, disbelief etched all over his face. He shook his head, looking at Draco as if he were mental. 

In that moment, Draco knew he’d made the right choice. Lupin was an adult, not a twelve-year-old clever girl whose mind was still open to the impossible. While Lupin was fully able to admit Draco was in fact a time traveller, he wasn’t open minded enough to accept some facts. For instance that Pettigrew was a rat— in all sense of the word. There were things Draco knew that would upend Lupin’s tidy world view and Draco didn’t want to do that yet. Or ever. Draco happened to actually like Lupin this time around, mostly because he looked passed the outside shell and saw inside. 

If only Draco had done that the first time around…

Lupin stood up. 

“Well, I think it best if we leave it at that,” Lupin said, shaking his head. “I…I need…to go.”

Lupin swept out of the room, leaving Draco alone. Shortly after Lupin left, Harry poked his head into the room and asked, “What was that all about?”

“Time travel.” 

Harry blinked. “No, seriously.”

“He wanted to know what I was frightened of and why it was effecting me so much.”

Harry swallowed that excuse and suggested they head to dinner. 


	11. The Break In That Made No Sense

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

September melted into October and the leaves swiftly found their way to the ground. Professor Lupin quickly became the school’s favorite professor as his lessons continued to top themselves. Having spent more time discussing the state of Lupin’s robes than paying attention the first time around, Draco felt like he was sitting through the lessons for the first time. After boggarts, they moved on to red caps— nasty goblin like creatures that lurked where there had been bloodshed. They prayed on those who got lost and rewarded these lost people by bludgeoning them. 

Lovely creatures, really, red caps. 

Kappas were the next creature tackled. They were simply creepy water dwelling creatures who looked like scaled monkeys with webbed hands— who were simply waiting to strangle you to death if you happened to wander into their ponds. 

Once again, lovely creatures kappas…

“I get the feeling Lupin is trying to teach us how not to die by dark creature,” Harry whispered after a lesson on kappas.

“Well, maybe he got wind Trelawney is itching for you to make her prediction to come true and he’s against it?” Draco suggested. 

Harry snorted and was about to say something in response when he promptly vanished.

“Harry?”

Draco looked around but failed to see Harry anywhere. 

“HELP!”

Draco whirled around just in time to see Harry vanish around the corner. Draco darted off after the clearly in-the-process-of-being-kidnapped Harry. Draco caught up with Harry and his assailant in the Entrance Hall. Draco snickered and slowed his pace when he noted who’d snatched Harry. Harry was failing at getting himself free from the grips of Oliver Wood, who was now a burly seventeen-year-old. Wood failed to notice Harry was in clear protest at being dragged out of the school till Harry manage to land a rather sound thump against Wood’s ear.

How Harry managed this was a mystery to Draco…and Wood, since Wood finally took note of the fact Harry was struggling. 

“You lot don’t like early morning meetings, so we’re doing afternoon,” Oliver explained, then hauled Harry out the door. 

Harry must have failed to realize he had practice. How Harry had failed to know was beyond Draco, but he shrugged and turned around. Hermione was behind him, seemingly having popped out of thin air.

“Were you there a moment ago?”

“Yes. Where else would I have been?” she asked. “How are you? It’s been awhile.”

“I know. You don’t drop by at meals,” Draco complained. “Is it all your classwork?”

“What? No. I found it!”

“Found what?”

“Really, Draco,” Hermione sighed, digging through the monster sized bag she was carrying. Draco knew the bag was spelled to be bigger on the inside, yet it still appeared to be straining against the seams. “The photograph you saw in the newspaper over the summer. I finally found it.”

She pulled out something with a flourish and handed it to Draco. Draco took it and grinned upon finding the Weasleys all waving at him as they stood in front of a pyramid in Egypt.

“This must have been what he saw,” Draco breathed, studying the photo carefully. 

“Shoulder,” Hermione prompted as she and Draco began to walk towards the Great Hall. 

Draco looked at Ronald Weasley’s shoulder and sure enough, a rat was perched on it. And as Harry remembered indeed attempting to nibble on the fez Weasley was wearing on his head while smiling for the camera in a contained way Draco never imagined Ronald Weasley capable of achieving. Shaking his head, he put his focus on the rat. 

“It’s missing a finger,” Hermione whispered over the noise of people heading into the Entrance Hall to go to dinner. She took a step closer. “Animagi always take on the physical aspects of the witch or wizard. McGonagall has marks where her glasses are, so it is safe to assume that the rat would be missing a finger if the actual man is missing a finger.”

“The biggest part of him they found was his finger,” Draco faintly mumbled, folding the picture up and looking over at Hermione. 

“So, I think you might have been…correct in your assessment.”

Draco and Hermione both sat down on the bench at the Gryffindor table.

“How did he get the paper though?” Hermione went on in a low tone. “I doubt they just hand them out.”

Draco glanced up and bit his bottom lip. “Well, Nott said Fudge visited…the muttering about ‘He’s at Hogwarts’ started after that.”

“Why would the Minister of Magic give a convicted, dangerous felon a newspaper?”

Draco stared at Hermione a moment, then remembered she’d never actually met the blustering fool. 

“Let’s just say, sometimes I think Fudge replaces his brains with actual fudge.”

Hermione sighed and began to eat, shoveling food into her mouth at top speed. At Draco’s questioning look, she said something that sounded like, “Homework.” 

* * *

Draco entered the Common Room later that night to find a huddle of people around the notice board, one being a muddy Harry Potter who appeared glum. 

“Practice not go well?” Draco inquired.

“Swimmingly,” Harry muttered darkly.

“First Hogsmeade weekend,” said Neville, pointing at the notice board. “End of October. Halloween.”

“Excellent,” Fred Weasley proclaimed somewhere behind Draco. “I need to visit Zonko’s. I’m nearly out of Stink Pellets. Oi, Draco, will you stop growing!”

Draco turned and found he was almost taller than Fred. He blinked.

“It won’t work,” Harry grumbled, pulling a stray piece of grass out of his hair. “You tell him to stop being do damn tall and he gets taller to spite you.”

“I have no control over this!” Draco cried.

Draco was beginning to worry about all this growing. He seriously did not remember growing this much the first time around. If he was honest, he thought he was on the shorter side, as Crabbe and Goyle always towered over him.

Maybe they were half giants and Draco had failed to notice? They sure had the brains of full blooded giants…

Harry threw himself into a chair and folded his arms across his chest, not caring he’d gotten the chair dirty with his mud splattered clothing. Draco sat down next to him and studied his friend for a beat before saying, “I’m sure after Black is…dealt with Dumbledore will allow you to go to the village. I’m sure he’s aware of the…situation with your…family.”

“Black’s not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade,” George announced, flopping into a chair across from the boys. “I’m sure if you ask McGonagall she’ll let you go. Just tell her about your rotten Muggle relatives.”

“Harry’s not supposed to leave the school grounds!” Neville squeaked.

“Aw, Neville. Stop being such a worrywart. I’m sure if Harry gets permission from a teacher, he can go. Black’s not going to be lurking in Hogsmeade waiting for Harry to appear in a large group of students,” Fred announced, clapping a hand on Neville’s shoulder. “The dementors’ll be on him in a second.” 

“I think I will ask her.”

Harry stood up and was gone before Draco could object. 

* * *

Draco woke up to a world that was shaking out of control. Scotland wasn’t exactly known for earthquakes as far as Draco was aware, but who knew? Opening his eyes, Draco discovered he wasn’t suffering through an earthquake, but a Harry Potter wake up call.

“Draco!” Harry hissed.

“I’m up, I’m up. What do you want now?” Draco grumbled, running a hand over his face. “I was having such a lovely dream. I was asleep. As in not awake.”

“Why are you in bed so early?” Harry demanded.

Draco shrugged. “Finished with my homework and you didn’t return from your mission to ask McGonagall if you could go to Hogsmeade.”

“I ran into Hermione,” Harry said. “And her cat.”

“Her cat?”

“Yeah. If you can call that thing a cat. Anyways, the cat had escaped from the Ravenclaw Tower and was trying to break into the Slytherin dorms.”

“What were you doing down there?”

Harry flapped a hand. “I wasn’t down there. I ran into her outside McGonagall’s office looking for her cat. But, what’s important is the rat.”

“The rat?”

“The rat is paramount,” Harry said gravely, leveling Draco with a serious expression. “You’ve been obsessed with Weasley’s rat since we started school. On the first night you moaned the rat was in Slytherin. And you think the rat is a guy who told Marv where my parents and I were, right?”

Draco nodded, wondering if maybe he was in fact still dreaming. Had he really been dreaming before the earthquake hit? 

“So, Hermione and I were talking and Weasley and Zabini walked around the corner and the cat went crazy! Like he was in the pet shop. He pounced on Weasley and tried to tear his robe apart. It was scary, actually. Hermione was besides herself. It took Zabini and I to free Weasley. Then, the rat escaped from the pocket Weasley had it in and the cat took off after it! And it only ended because the rat managed to sneak through a crack in the wall the cat couldn’t fit through. Not that he wasn’t trying his hardest.” 

Draco nodded.

“Hermione tried to play it off as normal cat behavior, but I know cats.”

“How do you know cats?”

“The woman who looked after me when my aunt and uncle left had a lot of cats. Cats do chase mice and rats, but none of them go after them in the singleminded way Crookshanks goes after Weasley’s rat. There was no way the cat knew Weasley had the rat. I mean, I know animals have better noses than us, but the cat had begun to go nuts long before Weasley rounded the corner.”

“Okay, so what’s your point?” Draco inquired. “While I think it’s great you are taking stock in my theory that the rat is a human being, what…”

“THE RAT IS PARAMOUNT!” Harry shouted, making Neville snort in his sleep and mutter something else. 

The other two boys weren’t in bed yet and by the noise drifting up the stairs, most of Gryffindors were still up and about. Draco hadn’t thought he’d turned in all that early. Neville clearly didn’t think so either, since he was fast asleep and having some sort of dream about plants. 

“Draco!” 

“Yes, yes, okay. Paramount rat. I understand.”

“The cat was trying to sneak into the _Slytherin_ dorms. There are rats and mice and other things for the cat to hunt after all over the place, why focus on the one place _the_ rat is located?”

Draco had a good idea, but wasn’t sure if a cat would know that the rat wasn’t exactly a rat.

“Hermione showed me the photo, the rat is missing a finger,” Harry went on. “So, what if the cat knows?”

“Knows the rat is missing a toe?”

“NO! That it is not really a rat!”

Draco made a face and opened his mouth, but Harry started hoping on his knees on the mattress. The whole world went back to shaking and jumping.

“What if other animals can tell if someone is an Animagi and not a real animal? What if the cat knows because it can SMELL it!”

“Okay, but…how does this aid us in obtaining the rat?” Draco questioned.

That had always been his goal: get the rat. 

“It doesn’t, really, but, I think the cat is onto something,” Harry admitted, folding his legs under himself and the world stopped moving up and down. “Remember I told you about Sirius Black being spotted near here? And you started to tell us that he was rumored to be muttering he’s at Hogwarts, which everyone assumed meant me? But, you think it means the rat?”

Draco nodded, hope welling up with in. 

“If Sirius Black does something…strange, like, oh, I don’t know, breaks into the Slytherin dorms, then I will believe you. Even without any concrete proof, I’ll give your conspiracy theory more weight than what every else believes. Because I’m beginning to think…the rat is paramount.”

Harry once again got that very serious expression on his face that kind of made Draco want to giggle.

Draco nodded. “Deal.” 

He was somewhat confused what had just happened, but for all he knew, he was indeed dreaming. 

* * *

Halloween morning dawned bright with yellow sunshine. The entire school was also quite sunny, except for Harry. 

“I’ll stay behind,” Draco offered.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. What’s so great about an all wizarding village?”

“Candy? Joke shops? Fun in the sun?” 

Draco sighed. “Well, okay. Are you telling me you want something?”

“Yes. Chocolate. Lots of it. Now, go forth and buy me chocolate.”

Harry turned on his heel and vanished into the exiting masses of the school. Sighing, Draco turned and joined the line to exit the castle. After being checked out by Filch, Draco wandered off toward the village. He was joined by Hermione as the afternoon wore on, who surprised him by taking the afternoon off from doing homework to enjoy life.

“It doesn’t do to constantly do homework and forget to live,” she joked. “So, here I am. Why on earth do you need all that chocolate?”

Draco had a huge hamper filled to the brim with chocolate bars.

“Harry requested it,” Draco admitted. “Figured I ought to give it to him, since he so quietly gave up.”

“Did he now?”

“No. I bet he’s up to something,” Draco admitted. “I don’t think he knows how to get out of the school other than the one door, so I doubt he’s here. But, I know he is plotting his escape.”

Hermione hummed, but looked cross. 

* * *

Harry was full of questions about the village when Draco and Hermione returned. Hermione ate the Halloween feast with the two boys at the Gryffindor table, to make up for not having dinner with them since school began. Draco and Hermione happily filled Harry in on the village. Harry, in return, told them about the lovely afternoon he’d spent with Professor Lupin and looking at his grindylows. 

Draco wanted to hug Lupin for giving Harry something to focus on since he was unable to go to the village with the rest of the third years. 

“You got a private lesson on grindylows?” Hermione all be shirked.

“I didn’t get a private lesson,” Harry assured her. “We just had some tea till Snape showed up with a smoking goblet.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. Hermione frowned. 

“I did find out why he didn’t let me face the boggart,” Harry offered. “I guess he already talked to you about it.”

Harry looked at Draco, who quickly nodded.

“Why not?”

“He was afraid it’d become Marv,” Harry replied.

“Would it have?” Hermione inquired.

Harry shook his head. “No. I’ve never been scared of Marv. Bunnies were my first thought.”

Harry shuddered while Hermione stared at Harry agog.

“But, then, I remembered the dementor. Turns out I’m smart to fear them, as it means I’m frightened of fear.”

“What was yours going to become?” Hermione asked, looking at Draco. “You’re not frightened of…some fluffy animal are you?”

“Bunnies are not fluffy!” Harry shouted. “They are twitchy! And they’ve got beady red eyes sometimes!” 

“Marv. Red eyes are really freaky,” Draco replied flatly. He tried to communicate that it’d become the Marv of the Second Coming, but he wasn’t sure if he got that across. Hermione moved onto something else. 

“What was in the smoking goblet?”

“No clue. Lupin thanked Snape for it, Snape told him to drink it directly and Lupin drank it, telling me sugar made it useless.”

Hermione frowned. 

“I warned him about Snape, though,” Harry went on, grabbing up a pumpkin pasty. “I don’t think Lupin took me seriously. Do you think Snape was trying—” 

“No,” Hermione and Draco said together. 

Harry frowned. “Then why was it smoking? What could be wrong with Lupin that he’d need a smoking potion?”

“A lot of things,” Draco quickly offered. “And it’s none of our business.” 

So ended that conversation. 

Hermione quickly began to discuss Hogsmeade again with Harry, who only half heartedly took part in the conversation, paying more attention to the entertainment the Hogwarts ghosts were providing. They were doing some formation gliding and Nearly Headless Nick did a reenactment of his own botched beheaded. 

The feast ended and everyone rose to exit the Great Hall. Nott, of course, had to shout, “The dementors send their love, Potter!” before vanishing into the dungeons. Hermione said goodnight shortly after, allowing Harry and Draco to head up to the seventh floor. When they reached the corridor the portrait was located they hit a traffic jam of Gryffindors, who were all jabbering loudly about the fact the Fat Lady as missing. 

“Where’d she go? She must know the feast is over,” Harry said, trying to crane his neck over the hoards in front of him. “What do you see, Tall One?”

“Heads. Lots of heads,” Draco replied, frowning. “Just because I’m taller than you doesn’t mean I’m a giant, One Who Fears Bunnies.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Tall-One-Who-Doesn’t-Fear-the-Most-Terrifiying-Animal-on-the-Planet.” 

“Let me through, please,” came Big Head Boy’s voice over the jabbering. 

Harry and Draco were pushed apart by said Big Head Boy as he came bustling importantly through the crowd, thus ending their exchange on bunnies. 

“What’s the holdup here? You can’t have all forgotten the password. Out of my way, I’m Head Boy.”

 _Like we needed reminding,_ Draco snarked in his head. 

Suddenly, silence fell in the corridor front to back. Draco held his breath, knowing what was coming yet wondering why it was coming.

Sirius must have realized the rat would not be where Harry was because Ronald was— Oh.

Harry continued to crane his neck to see what was going on till Weasley’s voice sharply said, “Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick.” 

“What’s going on?” Ginny asked, tugging on Draco’s sleeve to get his attention.

“Fat Lady’s gone,” Draco replied. “Your brother just requested Dumbledore.”

Ginny frowned. 

“Where’s Atlanta?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny admitted. “She was just here a moment ago.” 

“I’m right here.”

Ginny turned around to find Atlanta standing right behind her, her short curly hair almost standing on end for some reason. 

Before they could inquire where Atlanta had been that her hair looked like she’d been subjected to the perils of a windstorm, Dumbledore swept through the crowd towards the portrait. Since the crowd was pushed up against the wall, Draco was able to catch a glimpse of what sat at the very end: an empty picture that had been slashed so that strips of canvas littered the floor and great chunks were missing.

“We need to find her,” Dumbledore announced as McGonagall, Lupin and Snape appeared hurrying down the cleared corridor towards Dumbledore. “Professor McGongall, please go find Mr Filch at once. Tell him to search every painting for the Fat Lady.”

“You’ll be lucky!”

Peeve appeared, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he did at the sight of wreckage or worry. 

“What do you mean, Peeves?” Dumbledore calmly asked, making Peeves grin fade a little. 

The stupid little man didn’t dare taunt Dumbledore. He straightened up and fixed his hat before speaking in a rather oily voice.

“Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn’t want to be seen. She’s a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between trees. She was crying something dreadful,” he couldn’t help but add happily. “Poor thing.”

Draco scoffed.

“Did she say who did this to her?” Dumbledore asked.

“Oh, yes, Professorhead,” Peeves went on. An evil smile suddenly appeared on the poltergeist’s face as if he couldn’t contain it any longer. “He got very angry when she said who he was looking for wasn’t in Gryffindor, you see. Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.”

Draco quickly looked at the reactions of the other professors while the Gryffindors in the hallways all gasped and the Head Boy looked like he was about to faint— either from the thrill of a mass murderer in his school or from fear of a mass murderer on the loose during his reign as Head Boy. 

“But, that was nothing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You should see what he did to the wall down in the dungeons,” Peeves cackled, then vanished.

No sooner had Peeves vanished with a loud pop, one of the prefects from Slytherin appeared shouting for Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore. 

Everyone suddenly was staring at Harry looking bewildered. Harry cleared his throat and said, “So, er, how are we going to get in if the Fat Lady is gone?” 

* * *

They couldn’t. The Gryffindors were ushered back down to the Great Hall where they were joined by the other three houses. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were all chattering about why Slytherin and Gryffindor would have attempted break-ins, since Harry lived in Gryffindor. 

“Who is he looking for, then?” a fifth year Hufflepuff whispered. 

“No clue.”

Like last time, Dumbledore had cleared the tables away and made purple sleeping bags appear. Harry, Hermione and Draco dragged theirs to a corner of the room and waited out all the whispering and theories till Big Head Boy got mad enough to make an explosion go off and silence in the hall finally fell. 

“I don’t know why they think he could Apparate in or out. Or fly,” Hermione scoffed. “No one has read _Hogwarts: A History_ clearly.”

“Only you,” Harry offered. 

“Draco?”

“Yes, Hermione?”

“Why did he go to Gryffindor?”

“Because that’s where Harry lives?” Draco offered sweetly. 

Hermione punched him since Percy was making his way passed them during his rounds of the Great Hall looking for students awake. The three pretended to be asleep when Percy turned sharply to look at them. Once Percy was gone, Hermione said, “Didn’t they say Peeves said Sirius was mad when the Fat Lady told Black he didn’t live there?”

Harry gasped, putting it together. 

“Weasleys are always in Gryffindor,” Hermione realized, hitting her head on the floor a few times. “Except for Ronald! He’s…”

“In Slytherin,” Harry finished. 

“As you stated before, the rat is paramount,” Draco quietly said. “Sirius clearly is going after the rat owned by Weasley. How was he to know Ronald Weasley sorted into Slytherin?”

“Draco, wasn’t Black a Gryffindor while all the other Blacks have always been Slytherins?” Hermione quietly asked.

“Yes, actually,” Draco admitted.

“Interesting,” Hermione hummed. 

“So, Black wouldn’t have had a clue,” Harry whispered.

“Till the Fat Lady told him. And he’d wasted his time trying to get into Gryffindor.”

“But…why slash her portrait?” Harry asked, looking worried.

“He’s spent the past twelve years with the dementors and hasn’t had any proper treatment,” Hermione softly reminded Harry. “I don’t know a lot about long term exposure, but they say almost everyone goes mad. He’s not mad, they say, but he could be mentally unstable, so his…lesser traits could be…stronger?”

“Blacks do have tempers,” Draco offered. “Usually. My great aunt was known for her horrible temper and she’s Sirius’ mother.”

Harry grimaced. 

“But, he couldn’t have been that bad,” Draco whispered quickly, eyeing the approaching Percy. “He was friends with your parents and they made him your godfather.”

Harry still looked worried, but Percy swooped down on them and told them to be quiet and go to sleep. 

* * *

Draco wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the professors had all swopped off to search the castle for Black. They wouldn’t find him, as he would have high tailed it out of the castle the moment he failed entry into the Slytherin dorm. 

Draco almost wished he could have seen Sirius’ conversation with the wall. Mostly because Draco wasn’t aware the wall could talk. 

Also, the Slytherin passwords were pathetic and always based on something to do with blood status or snakes. Any idiot could figure it out if they really thought about it. 

Draco was unable to fall asleep, his mind was thinking so many various things. He was so lost in his head that he hadn’t realized there was a conversation going on right near him. It was Snape’s voice that jolted Draco out of his head and back to reality. 

“Headmaster? The whole school has been searched and no sign of Black,” Snape reported. 

“I didn’t expect Black to linger,” Dumbledore admitted sounding tired and not at all surprised. 

“Have you any theory on how he got in, Professor?” Snape inquired, sounding like he had a million he’d like to offer up on a platter. 

“Many, Severus, each of them unlikely as the next.”

“Why did he try to break into Slytherin?” Big Head Boy asked, injecting himself into the conversation. 

“Who knows?” Dumbledore mused, sounding honestly confused. 

Draco cracked his eyes open a little so he could see what was going on. The only person he could see was Snape, who was glaring daggers at Big Head Boy with a clear expression of deep loathing and anger on his face.

Draco wasn’t sure if it was directed at Percy Weasley or for a whole different reason. 

“You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before the start of term?” Snape asked, who hardly moved his lips to speak. It was as if he could block Big Head Boy out of the conversation if he didn’t move his lips. From Big Head Boy’s expression, he’d clearly understood what Snape hissed at Dumbledore.

“I do, Severus,” Dumbledore admitted, with a hint of a warning in his tone.

“It seems…almost impossible that Black would have entered without…help.”

“You do remember while he was a student, he tended to turn up in place he shouldn’t be,” Dumbledore said almost pleasantly. “He had a certain knack for it, I dare shall say.” 

This statement seemed to enrage Snape more. “I did express my concerns when you appointed—”

“I believe no one in this school would let Black inside,” Dumbledore said, his tone making it clear this was the end of the conversation. “I must inform the dementors we’ve finished our search.” 

“Didn’t they wish to help?” Big Head Boy eagerly asked.

“Oh, yes,” Dumbledore said, looking at the boy with a cold look. “But I’m afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster.”

Percy Weasley appeared abashed. Dumbledore swept out of the hall, the door shutting behind him softly. Snape glowered for a moment longer before he stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Percy bristled and hurried to tell off those who’d woken at the sound of the door. 

Draco glanced to his right to find Hermione and Harry both awake and staring at him. 

“Who does he think…” Hermione started but stopped when Harry touched her arm. 

“Lupin.”

“What?”

“He knew my parents,” Harry whispered. “Lupin knew my parents. And, well, so did Black.” 

“Didn’t Snape attend school with your parents?”

“But they weren’t friends,” Harry quickly reminded Hermione, looking at Draco for confirmation. 

Draco nodded. “Harry’s right. Snape must be worried Lupin is letting Black in.”

“Is he?”

“No,” Draco scoffed. “Dumbledore’s right. No one let Black in. Lupin was at the feast the whole time and before that he was with Harry, right?”

“Well, till about an hour before you lot showed up. I went to the Common Room to meet you,” Harry whispered. 

“So, how did he get in?” Hermione asked. “If no one let him in, then, how’d he manage?”

Harry and Hermione looked at Draco, who shrugged. “We’re already dealing with one Animagi, could we be dealing with another one?”

Hermione slapped her hand over her mouth while Harry looked amazed. 

The conversation did not move forward as Big Head Boy noticed the trio were whispering and awake and quickly came over to put an end to their musings. 


	12. Quidditch Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those who comment, kudos, and bookmark: THANK YOU!

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Harry was confused, somewhat furious, and dreadfully bored stiff by the fact EVERYONE seemed to still think Sirius Black was after him. Harry was quite ready to move on.

Tragically, no one else was ready to move passed Sirius Black.  

While the entire school talked about nothing but Sirius Black, Harry’s two best friends bickered endlessly over the fact there might be an illegal Animagi somewhere out there. Hermione was rather animate that there was no way two teenagers had managed to become Animagi on their own, while Draco said they already knew the rat was one, so why not Black. 

“How did they do it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried to become an Animagi!” 

Harry thought that was an odd thing for Draco to say, as he was only thirteen. Why would he have tried before? It was clear even in passing that Animagi were rare and it was a hard skill to achieve. While Draco was rather advanced magic wise and everything they learned came to him a little too easy (even if he tried to hide it), there was something about Draco’s statement that lodge itself in Harry’s mind and made a home. 

“Oh, so you abide by those laws!”

But not the other ones? What laws had Draco broken? 

“It’s hard. It’s not something I’d consider trying to do now. You’ve got to be really good at Transfiguration, like at the Mastery level to even entertain it,” Draco went on. 

“Well then, how did Black and the rat achieve it, huh?” Hermione hissed. 

Harry was pretty sure they’d both forgotten he was sitting with them in the library. 

“I don’t know, okay? I’m pretty sure Black was good at magic. If…well…I…well, did you read?”

“Read what?” Hermione asked, confused now. 

“The chapters we were supposed to read for Ancient Runes.”

Hermione blinked several times, but began talking about Ancient Runes. Harry glanced between the two and sighed deeply. Sometimes they talked in code. 

“No. You didn’t give them to me,” Hermione snapped suddenly, looking through a large stack of parchment.

Draco cursed, which made Hermione throw a ball of parchment at his head.

“Well, while you to do…whatever, I’ve got practice. Later,” Harry said, pushing himself up to his feet and exiting the library. 

He was ambling towards the Tower to get his broom when a student handed him a piece of parchment addressed to him. Opening it, he saw it was a note from McGonagall requesting his presence presently. Frowning, Harry turned around and headed to her office, having a feeling he already knew what she was going to tell him: Sirius Black was after him. 

Turned out he was right. She told him, wearing a very seriously grave expression on her face as if it were the worst news she’d ever given someone. 

Harry was finding the whole Black was out for his blood harder to believe. Though, that might have been because of Draco and the fact those conspiracy theories were starting to make some sense. 

“I know, ma’am,” Harry said. “I, er, sort of figured it out.”

“I see. Well, in that case, Potter, you will understand why I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with only your team mates to watch you. It’s very exposed, Potter— ”

Harry’s world ended.

He didn’t care if Black was going to murder him, he wanted to play Quidditch. It was the best thing about the wizarding world— besides his friends. 

Also, Oliver Wood was going to kill him. Who cared about Sirius Black! Why wasn’t McGongall worried about Oliver Wood? Oliver was out to win the Cup again and Harry was sure a tiny problem like Black wasn’t going to stand in his way. 

Clearly, McGonagall had never really bothered to meet Oliver Wood.

“Our first match is Saturday!” Harry shouted, feeling panicked. “I’ve got to train or Wood will kill me! Honestly, ma’am. He…he’s rather intense about winning the Cup this year.”

Professor McGonagall stared at Harry intently, seeming to take the fact Wood might just kill Harry seriously. 

Harry let out a sigh of relief. 

“Hmm…you’ve got a point, Potter. I also would hate for Slytherin to win,” McGongall admitted. She gazed out the window behind Harry. “We won the Cup last year and I’d like to keep it in the office.”

She turned her gaze from the rainy window to the Cup that sat on a shelf near her desk. 

“But, I can’t just let you go out there with only your teammates, who will be focused on the practice. You will be supervised by a teacher. I’ll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions.”

Harry let out another sigh of relief.

Everything else might go pear-shaped, but at least he’d still be able to play Quidditch. And Harry didn’t entertain any foolish notions that things wouldn’t at some point explode in his face like they did every school year. He knew logically that at some point Sirius Black would reach his goal, be it Harry or the rat, and whatever the man’s true goal was, either way, Harry would be there.

It was how things worked.

* * *

The weather was plotting against Harry. Besides life in general, the weather was out to get Harry as well. Oliver failed to notice, however, and continued to push the entire team at training. One evening it was so windy, Harry blew away several times and had to be saved by the Weasley twins. 

“I think we need to put some more weight on you, Harry,” Fred joked.

“Here, have a some fattening chocolate,” George offered, shoving a chocolate bar at Harry. 

Harry had learned not to eat things the twins gave him, so he slipped it into his pocket and continued to blow off course during the training session. 

While Harry was blowing all over the place, Oliver did not seem to mind as he was still catching the Snitch. He continued to train the team hard (despite the weather) till the last training session when the burly seventh year burst into the locker rooms before the start looking like someone had just died.

“What’s wrong, Oliver?” Angelina asked, looking worried.

Oliver opened and closed his mouth several times before exploding, “We’re not playing Slytherin!”

His face suddenly went red with anger.

“What?” the twins asked at the same time.

“Flint’s just been to see me. We’re playing Hufflepuff!”

Oliver tossed his arms in the air and collapsed in a heap on the locker room floor.

“Why?” Katie asked. “Are they scared of a little weather?”

“Seeker’s arm is injured,” Oliver admitted, grinding his teeth furiously from his position on the floor. “But, it’s obviously the weather.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Nott’s arm!” Harry shouted furiously. “He’s faking it!”

“I know that, but we can’t prove it without attacking him,” Oliver bitterly admitted. He pushed himself back to his feet and straightened out his school robes. “And there’s not much we can do about playing Hufflepuff. We’ll loose of course.”

“What?” the entire team asked at once.

“We’ve been training as if we’re playing Slytherin!” Oliver shouted as if was clear as day why he was so furious. “But, we’re playing Hufflepuff! It’s a whole different team!”

“Uh, yeah…” Fred trailed off, looking confused.

“But, it’s Hufflepuff,” George offered.

“Their style is different! They’ve got a new captain!”

“Who?” Harry asked.

“Cedric Diggory,” Oliver ground out as Angelina, Alicia and Katie suddenly giggled. Oliver glared at them darkly. “He’s also the Seeker and has a totally different set of talents…as opposed to Nott.”

“Who has none,” Harry filled in needlessly while the girls got a hold of themselves. 

“Why are you giggling?” Fred asked, frowning.

“Cedric Diggory’s tall, good looking, yeah?” Angelina asked. “That’s who you’re talking about, right?”

Oliver ground his back teeth together. “Yes. That would be him.”

“Strong and silent,” Katie giggled.

This set Alicia off.

Harry frowned. Fred bristled.

“He’s only silent because he’s too thick to string two words together,” Fred snapped. “Don’t worry, Oliver, Hufflepuff is a pushover, no matter who is heading the team. Last time we played them Harry caught the snitch in about five minutes, remember?”

“We’re playing in completely different conditions this time!” Oliver shouted, his eyes bulging slightly. “Diggory’s changed the entire team! It’s a whole new line up! And he’s an excellent Seeker! I’ve seen him in action! This is bad! We are not ready to play Hufflepuff!”

“Oliver, calm down!” George cautioned. “We are going to take Hufflepuff very seriously. Don’t worry.”

“We’ll treat them as Percy treats his duties at Head Boy,” Fred assured.

Harry felt lost at sea as the girls continued to giggle and the twins collapsed against one another snickering. Oliver wailed loudly and left the room. 

* * *

The day before the match was just like the weather outside: horrible. 

It began with Nott moaning about his arm whilst his fellow Slytherins snickered and took in the gales of wind outside the windows.

It ended with Harry showing up late to DADA to find Snape in charge. Harry was only late due to Oliver telling him all about Diggory and giving him tips on how to add weight to himself in order not to blow away during the match. Harry was quite sure Oliver had yet to make it anywhere on time since they’d found out they were playing Hufflepuff, as he was darting all over the place attempting to cram a whole months worth of training into a week for the entire team. 

“Where’s Professor Lupin?” Harry asked, staring at Snape who was glowering at him in the front of the room. 

“Ill. Sit down, Potter. Lesson began ten minutes ago. While Lupin might accept the fact you fail to be able to tell time, I do not. Now sit.”

Harry sat.

This was just his luck. His last lesson on the day before a big match and he had to deal with Snape. Who looked as if he was having a little too much fun forcing the class to learn about werewolves, which they weren’t supposed to learn about for weeks. Snape skipped five chapters.

Snape also took every single chance he could to bad mouth Lupin, who was a great professor no matter what Snape happened to believe. 

By the end of the lesson, Harry was in a foul mood. Anyone would be if they had their homework for the past two months critiqued for the entire class to hear. It was a good thing Dumbledore didn’t want to give the DADA job to Snape. No one would pass. 

* * *

“WAKE UP!”

Harry shot straight out of bed. He looked around wildly to find Oliver Wood standing next to his bed.

“I just remembered—”

Harry groaned and collapsed backwards. The rest of his dorm mates all grumbled and threw things at Oliver, who failed to notice.  

“No, Harry, no. It’s time to get up. If you get up now, we can go over a few more things before the match!” Oliver said, dragging Harry from the nice, warm bed. Harry flailed his arms, but Oliver dragged him down the stairs and set up in a chair in front of the fireplace and began to go over all his tips for defeating Diggory. 

“You do realize I’ll just blow away and it doesn’t matter, right?” Harry asked after an hour of Oliver’s lecture. 

Oliver stopped speaking.

“Look outside, Oliver. This storm is loud and the wind is fierce. While Seekers are usually light and speedy, you’ve pointed out quite a few times that Diggory’s weight and height will be of an advantage in these conditions. And due to the fact I’ve blown off course every single practice since this storm started no matter what Add-Weight-To-Harry techniques you’ve tried, I think we’re royally screwed.”

Oliver gasped and lost all steam. 

“Let’s just go and play and see what happens. We’re a good team,” Harry reminded Oliver. “Stop worrying.”

“Precisely,” came a voice from behind Harry.

Harry glanced up to find Percy rubbing his eyes and looking rumbled. His flaming red hair was curling as it was out of its usual gel encased helmet. His glasses were sitting in his nest of hair and he appeared to have not gone to bed the previous night as he was still in his school robes. Oliver stared at Percy for a long moment before he asked, “Why are you awake?”

“I never went to bed,” Percy grumbled, glaring at Oliver. “Nor have you. How are you going to play on no sleep?”

“You’ve got a few hours before the match. Sleep,” Harry ordered.

Harry was completely amazed when it worked and Oliver collapsed in the chair, fast asleep.

“Finally,” Percy grumbled. “That took forever.”

Percy stalked passed Oliver and headed up the stairs. A few minutes later Harry heard a door slam. Knowing he wasn’t going to magically fall asleep like Oliver, Harry whittled away the hours before breakfast by doing some of the homework that had stacked up when Oliver upped the training sessions. By the time other students were rising to get breakfast, Oliver was still out cold and refused to wake, so Harry left him behind when he headed down to breakfast. 

* * *

“Where’s Oliver?” Alicia asked, looking worried. “Is he still asleep in the Common Room?”

“No. No, he’s here!” Percy shouted, pushing a confused looking Oliver into the locker room. Oliver stared at the team and squared his shoulders. Everyone was changed except for Wood, who was still in his school robes. Oliver nodded and hurried to change. He reemerged and stared at them. He attempted to give his pre-match talk, but only was able to make gulping noises. After a minute, he gave up and stalked out of the changing rooms. 

The team followed him out. Oliver braced himself before opening the door that lead to the field. The door almost blew off the hinges when Oliver opened it. With heads bowed, the team worked their way onto the field, staggering quite often due to the gusts of wind knocking them off course. 

How on earth was Harry going to find the Snitch let alone fly in these conditions?

Besides the gusty winds, the rain was coming down thickly. It was lucky they were playing Hufflepuff who happened to wear canary yellow robes that normally looked ridiculous, but made them easy to see in this weather. 

Harry didn’t hear the whistle or see the Captains shake hands. The only way he knew it was time to kick off was due to the yellow and red dots in the air. Harry followed, kicking off the ground with a splash of mud going everywhere. 

His Nimbus Two Thousand rose quickly, but listed to the left. Harry gripped the broom tightly and held it as steady as he was able. While the storm had appeared worse than previous days, today Harry did not seem to be blowing off course as easily as he had been. Maybe a few of the odd weight techniques (one being putting rocks in Harry’s pockets) had worked?

“Brilliant,” Harry muttered under his breath. 

He quickly began looking for the Snitch, hoping it’d be easy to find and show itself directly. 

Scanning the field, all Harry saw were blurs of red and yellow. No gold. He could hear nothing except the storm as it raged.

In the back of Harry’s mind, he wondered why they let them play in these dangerous conditions. 

Losing track of time, Harry wasn’t sure what was going on in the match only that he was cold and frozen. He had almost ran into several players, having no clue if they were friend or foe. He half wanted Diggory to find the Snitch so the game would end and he could figure out if he could pry himself off his broom. He was pretty sure he was frozen to it.

Harry looked around, wishing to find the stupid Snitch. He looked left, looked right and then he looked forward and saw it: a big, black shaggy dog. It was only lit up for a second while the light struck somewhere behind it, but Harry was sure as day he’d just seen the Grim.

“Again?” Harry asked, feeling his stomach flop over. “Please, no. It’s just a dog.” 

“HARRY! BEHIND YOU!” 

Somehow, Oliver Wood was able to make his voice heard above the storm. Harry whirled around and found yellow blur pelting up the field. It was only after he took off after the blur he saw a flick of gold.

Bloody hell.

With a jolt of panic, Harry bent over his broom and willed it to go faster. He soon caught up with Diggory and sped passed him— the wind was thankfully behind him. 

“Come on, come on, almost there,” Harry muttered to himself, failing to notice the stadium had gone eerily silent.

It was only when a horribly familiar cold swept through his insides did Harry realize something was wrong. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry looked down and saw at least a hundred dementors, their faces hidden by their hoods, were all standing under him. It was as though freezing water was suddenly dumped over his head and ice shards were cutting off his limbs. 

And then he heard it.

The screaming woman. She was screaming inside his head as loudly as she could. 

_“Not Harry! Not Harry! Please not Harry!”_

_“Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside now!”_

That was new. It was a cold, high voice. A familiar voice.

_“Not Harry, please no, kill me instead!”_

Harry wanted to save the woman. She was going to die! What was he doing flying on this broom?

_“Not Harry! Please! Have mercy!”_

The woman was screaming again. A shrill, high voice was laughing.

Harry knew that laugh.

He knew what he was hearing: his mother’s death.

Harry felt his insides freeze completely and everything went black. 


	13. Finding the Marauders

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

The first time seeing Harry Potter bonelessly fall off his broom was disturbing, even if Draco later laughed and mercilessly mocked the incident. 

Watching it a second time was horrifying. 

Actually, there was not a word strong enough to convey how horrible it’d been to see Harry fall off his broom and pelt towards the ground. Draco was so panicked, he had failed to see where Harry’s broom had gone off on its own. It wasn’t until Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing after being saved by Dumbledore (the only clear thinking person in the entire stadium, likely due to the dementors befuddling everyone) that Draco remembered the broom’s fate.

“Where’s my broom?” Harry was the first thing out of Harry’s mouth. “What happened to it? Please don’t tell me it blew off and wasn’t found.”

“Er…” Draco glanced at Hermione, who looked at the muddy Gryffindor team (sans Oliver Wood who was busying attempting to drown himself in the showers). 

The twins exchanged looks before sighing deeply. One turned and grabbed something from behind him Draco hadn’t noticed before. He turned around, holding the bundle of robes out to Harry. Harry wordlessly took it, folding back the sides to reveal the bits and pieces of his former broom. 

Harry looked as if his dog had died. 

“Sorry, mate,” a twin said quietly. 

“What happened?”

“What do you mean? You fell off your broom after the dementors crashed the game,” Draco said, knowing what Harry was really asking but not wanting to give him the answer. 

“The match, Draco! The match!” Harry shouted suddenly, upsetting the bits and pieces of broom in his lap.

The twins exchanged looks as the three girls stared at Harry wide eyed.

“Is he channeling Wood?” Alicia Spinnett asked. 

“I sure hope not,” Katie Bell grumbled. 

“We lost!” Harry wailed, grabbing at his hair. “Oh my god, we lost.”

“C’mon, Harry, you’ve never missed the Snitch before,” Twin One said. 

“There was bound to be a time you couldn’t get it,” Twin Two offered. 

“It’s not over,” Angelina Johnson added. “We only lost by a hundred, so…”

“If Hufflepuff looses to Ravenclaw and Ravenclaw to Slytherin…” Twin One began. 

“And we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin, we’ll still win!” finished Twin Two. 

Draco really needed to figure out how to tell them apart. Other than assigning numbers based on where they were currently standing. They tended to move. 

“Hufflepuff’ll have to loose by at least a hundred points,” Harry groused, throwing his face into his hands. The remaining bits of broom tumbled off his lap, landing on the floor. 

No one else said anything as Harry began to detail all the ways Gryffindor wouldn’t make it to the Cup. Draco had a feeling the rest of the team had already heard all these things from Wood. Harry got so hysterical, Madam Pomfrey shooed the team out, only allowing Draco and Hermione to remain after they argued they had not been the people to get Harry worked up in the first place. 

“Dumbledore was so angry,” Hermione whispered after everyone had left. Her voice was still quaking and she looked clammy. “I’ve never seen him so mad.” 

Draco nodded. 

“My broom,” Harry moaned, drawing his knees up and hiding behind them. “I have no broom. I lost us the match. I fainted yet again…my life sucks.”

“Now, Harry, remember what Draco told you about dementors,” Hermione started but Harry made a noise that caused her to snap her mouth shut. 

“I think you ought to speak to Professor Lupin,” Draco suggested, realizing something. It was after this match Harry had suddenly learned how to produce a Patronus. Since Lupin had done that spell on the train and Harry was rather friendly with the professor, it was safe to assume he’d teach the kid how to protect himself from the dementors.

“Why?”

“Oh! Good thinking, Draco!” Hermione gasped, still hugging herself to ward away the cold that seemed to penetrate her. “Harry, he can teach you what he did to make that one leave on the train! Oh, I looked that up, but I can’t remember what it’s called.”

Harry finally lifted his head. He stared at Hermione.

“You forgot something?” Harry asked, sounding surprised. “Is the world ending?”

Hermione frowned and slugged Harry half heartedly in the arm. 

* * *

Harry was in hospital for the rest of the weekend. Draco and Hermione spent most of the weekend at his bedside. Harry had a steady stream of visitors, from the whole team to Ginny and Atlanta. The two second year girls turned up with get-well cards they’d made. Ginny blushed furiously and fled the room before Harry opened hers. Maybe because he was greeted by a shrilly singing voice upon opening the card? Atlanta frowned, snatched the card and whipped her wand out. She cast a spell by muttering under her breath and the card began to sing sweetly. 

“Sorry,” Atlanta apologized quickly. “I’m sure it did that as she was rather nervous about giving you homemade cards. I would have bought two, but she was insistent she make one if she gave one at all.”

“It’s fine,” Harry insisted. “Thanks. Tell her thank you, please?”

Atlanta gave a curt nod and sat down on a vacant chair, smoothing her skirt down and crossing her ankles. 

“So, the dementors really do a number on you, huh?” she asked, a small smile on her face. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “You could say that.”

“Have you thought about asking Professor Lupin for help? He knows the spell to repel those nasty creatures.”

“We’ve suggested that,” Hermione said tightly, eyeing Atlanta. 

“Will he be better on Monday? Snape said he’s ill, but he’s not here,” Harry said, frowning and looking around the empty Hospital wing. 

Atlanta stiffened. 

“I’m sure he’s in his own quarters,” Draco said quickly. “I bet he’s got a case of the flu or something.”

“It’s the flu,” Atlanta quickly agreed. “And he ought to be better on Monday.” She turned her attention back to Harry. “It’s a complicated spell, but due to the fact one needs a great deal of emotion behind it, I am sure you’ll do well.”

“Emotion?”

“Yes. It revolves around a happy memory,” Atlanta explained logically. “It’s a spell that gets its power from how focused your mind is upon the memory.”

Atlanta got a look in her strange amber-blue specked eyes, then shook her head as if to clear away whatever thoughts she had been having. She put on a rather fake smile and began asking Hermione about her various classes and what she suggested Atlanta sign up for next year. 

* * *

“Is he in there?” Harry whispered behind Draco as Draco peeked into the DADA classroom on Monday afternoon. 

Draco peered into the empty classroom. The shades were all open and sunlight was pouring into the classroom, the storm having finally blown itself out on Sunday. 

“He’s there,” Draco said, feeling relief. While Snape was indeed a very good DADA professor as he knew his stuff forward and backwards and had a passion for it, Lupin was so much…well, better at teaching Dark Creatures. Snape was more into defensive magic. He also was currently bitter and taking it out on the students. 

“Brilliant,” Harry breathed, coming out from behind Draco. “Anyone in there?”

“No. A perfect time to ask for lessons.”

Harry nodded. He was about to march into the classroom when a hoard of giggling girls rounded the corner and plowed Harry over. Draco stared aghast as the troupe of girls failed to realize they’d just knocked Harry clear off his feet. 

By the time Harry had gotten to his feet and gathered his belongings that had taken flight with Draco’s aid, there were quite a few third year Gryffindors complaining to Lupin about the werewolf assignment Snape had given them. Lupin smiled at the indignation on their faces, assuring them they did not need to turn the essay into Snape.

“Well, I guess I’ll ask him later,” Harry grumped, slumping into the room. 

They had a very enjoyable lesson. Lupin produced a glass box containing a hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as if he was constructed out of wisps of smoke. He looked harmless and frail, yet Draco knew better.

“Lures travelers into bogs,” Lupin informed them as they took notes. “You’ll notice this lantern dangling from his hand?”

Lupin tapped the case and the lantern thrust forward.

“Hops ahead— people follow the light, then…” 

Lupin dropped something into the tank and the hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise.

“Cool,” a few boys breathed. 

When the bell rang, Lupin requested Harry remain behind. After exchanging looks, Draco was sure Harry would ask about lessons to repel dementors. Draco waited outside the room for Harry. At half passed, Harry came out of the room with a bounce in his step. Draco found Harry grinning ear to ear.

“He’ll give me lessons after the holidays!”

* * *

The holidays. 

Draco wasn’t sure why, but for some reason the thought of the holidays filled him with dread. He’d written to his mother several times, but she’d yet to bring up the holidays. This year would be strange, as his father was exiled to France and had fallen from grace in society at large due to his actions the previous year. Draco also had a feeling his mother was busy doing something she hadn’t bothered to share with him. Not that he expected her to share her plots with him as he was her son and as far as she knew thirteen. 

Hence, why, when her letter arrived two weeks before the holidays asking if it was okay if he and Harry stay at school Draco wasn’t surprised. He told Harry, who frowned a little, but shrugged it off. 

“There’s a Hogsmeade visit right before the holidays!” Hermione exclaimed later that morning. “Did you see the notice? We’ll be able to do our Christmas shopping!”

She sat down, her overly full book bag making a rather loud thud as it hit the ground. 

“I’m sure Mum and Dad would really love those Toothfloosing Stringmints I saw last time,” Hermione went on, grabbing up some toast and jam.

Harry frowned, but said nothing. As Draco watched him, he got the feeling Harry was resigned to the fact he’d be the only third year remaining behind. Harry finally borrowed _Which Broomstick_ from Wood on the morning of the Hogsmeade trip and promised to research the different makes and order a new broom while everyone was enjoying their time in the village. 

“You need a boom! Like five weeks ago!” Wood wailed, before being dragged off by his boyfriend. 

Harry huffed and stalked off in the direction of the Gryffindor tower. Hermione frowned after his retreating back, worrying her bottom lip a little.

“He’ll be fine. Let’s go get our shopping done. I’ve got Harry’s to do as well,” Draco said. He hooked his arm with Hermione and turned them in the direction of Hogwart’s exit. 

They walked along, Hermione talking endlessly about her various classes and how wonderful Arithmancy was compared to Divinations.

“You know, if you like Arithmancy so much, why not just drop Divinations?” Draco inquired while they perused Honeydukes. 

“I can’t drop something!” Hermione shirked, causing a few people to turn and stare. “I’m sure…if there was a different professor…it’d be wonderful subject.”

Draco rolled his eyes, turning back to the blood pops. Draco picked one up and studied it. 

“Who are you going to give that to?” Hermione asked.

“What do you mean? Why can’t I eat it?”

“Blood-flavored lollipop?” Hermione asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Did you turn into a vampire without me noticing?”

“I could have. I am pale,” Draco joked, putting the lolly back. “Or, we could give it to Harry. Eating blood flavored things might be the secret to his success.” 

“I doubt it,” Hermione said. 

Draco sighed, picking up a jar of Cockroach Clusters. Grinning he held it out to Hermione and asked, “What about these? They’d make a smashing gift, correct?”

“Bzzzz. Wrong,” Harry’s voice said from somewhere.

Hermione nearly screamed, but instead chose to dig her nails into Draco’s arm, making Draco cringe and chomp down on his tongue.

“Harry! What are you doing here? How did you get here?” she hissed, staring at the empty air in front of her, eyes darting all over for where Harry might be located. 

“Over here,” Harry said from Draco’s other side. 

“How did you get here?” Draco asked at a normal volume. The shop was so full and loud it didn’t matter that Draco was talking to the tiny empty space next to him. “We both know one cannot simply enter and leave the castle at will.”

“Well…” Harry trailed off. Draco felt a body pressing into his back and move behind him to avoid being run into by someone else. When Harry next spoke, it was somewhere right below Draco’s ear. “I’ve got this map…”

* * *

“You have to hand it in!” Hermione shouted a quarter hour later standing outside the Shirking Shack. It was too cold for many people to venture up to the haunted house, so it seemed like a great place to discuss Harry’s Great Escape. “You cannot keep that map! You must give it to Professor McGonagall!”

“No way, Jose!”

“Harry…”

Hermione and Harry both turned to look at Draco, who’d remained silent since he’d inquired on how Harry had arrived at Honeydukes. 

“What did you say the names were on that map?”

Hermione frowned. “What does that have to do with anything!?”

“It might be important,” Draco insisted, something nagging at his mind. “I’m sure…I know I’ve heard Padfoot before. And Wormtail…”

Draco’s eyes went huge as he stared at Harry suddenly. Things slotted into place slowly. 

Why was his mind so sluggish?

“What?” Harry asked, looking concerned. 

“Names. Tell me the names.”

With a glance at Hermione, Harry pulled the map out and held it out to Draco. It looked like a blank piece of folded up parchment, yellowed with age. Harry pressed his wand to the front and whispered, “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good.”

Hermione gasped as ink spread out across the map, crisscrossing and joining together as it fanned out across the parchment. Across the top of the parchment in brilliant dark red ink that differed from the rest of the ink was the following:

_Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_

_Purveyors of Aid to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present_

_THE MARAUDER’S MAP_

“That is an amazing bit of magic,” Hermione breathed, reaching her gloved fingers out to the parchment. Her eyes were locked on the map as it began to show all the little footsteps and names of everyone currently located within the walls of the castle. Harry unfolded it a bit more and Hermione looked as if she was going to burst. 

“So, which names did you know?” Harry asked, choosing to ignore Hermione since she was completely transfixed by the map now that it was in operation. 

“Padfoot. That’s the code name Addy used for…I believe Sirius Black,” Draco admitted, also in slight awe of the piece of parchment before him. 

“Addy?”

Draco blinked. Hermione’s head shot up and she looked concerned.  

“Just someone he used to know,” Hermione quickly covered. “From his family. A relative, right?”

“Yes. She, er, died.”

“Did she know my parents?”

Draco nodded. “I believe she did. She left me that letter I had first year. Remember?”

“Adrasteia _,”_ Hermione offered quickly. “The one who…wanted Draco to read that book last year after…Atlanta went missing.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, giving Draco a strange side-eyed look. “So, she knew them. Maybe she’s one of them? Maybe she helped make this. I wonder who…wait, you said you knew who Wormtail was too.”

Harry’s expression suddenly went dark. Draco glanced at Hermione, who was also looking rather gloomy and worried. 

Draco took a deep breath. 

“Rats have tails,” Draco began, “and we know Sirius and your parents knew the rat.”

Harry stared back at the map. He contemplated for a moment before asking, “Do you think maybe my parents are the other two? Moony and Prongs? Or maybe my dad and the person you knew. My dad was friends with Black.”

“Could be,” Draco allowed. He was sure Moony was Lupin. He could hazard a guess that maybe Prongs was James Potter. This made sense with what he’d heard from his mother about Sirius when he’d asked her about the man when he’d started writing Harry before they began school three years ago. 

“So, in a sense…if my dad had made this map, then it’d make sense he’d want me to have it,” Harry announced, looking at Hermione. There was clear defiance in those emerald eyes. 

Known when she had been beaten, Hermione sighed. “All right. Fine. You can keep the map, but you’re not to use it to sneak out of school. We still don’t know if Sirius Black is out to get you or not. Really. And the rat could be Wormtail. And, you do not have a signed form!”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “I thought we’d decided Black was after the rat? Hence why he tried to break into Slytherin after finding out Weasley wasn’t in Gryffindor. I mean, why else would he attempt to break into Slytherin?”

“He’s right,” Draco reminded Hermione giving her a worried look. “I was pretty sure we were all in agreement on this topic.”

“The rat is paramount,” Harry said seriously.

Hermione pressed her lips together and fumed for a moment.

“You still do not have a form!”

“HEY! Would this map show the rat?” Harry asked in an attempt to distract Hermione. He began to turn the parchment around. Draco and Hermione crowded around and began scanning. 

“Right there,” Draco said, feeling triumphant suddenly as he stabbed the parchment with his finger.

Hermione and Harry both stared at the map, dumb founded expressions on their faces. Sure enough, right in the third year Slytherin dormitory was a dot clearly labeled PETER PETTIGREW.

Hermione appeared as if she was going to faint. 

“But he’s not listed! He’s illegal!” she whispered, pressing her gloved hand over her mouth. “Does this mean…?” 

“Dude,” Harry breathed. “What are we going to do?”

“Get the rat,” Draco promised. “And we’re going to have to look out for a dot labeled Sirius Black.”

“How can we be sure it’s a rat?” Hermione asked. “Maybe he’s invisible?”

“That’s how we can be sure,” Draco said, stabbing the map again. 

A dot labeled RONALD WEASLEY picked up the PETER PETTIGREW dot and joined his friends in the Common Room.

“Since they do not seem to be upset by a wizard joining them who should be dead, I think we can bet Peter Pettigrew is in fact Weasley’s rat.” 

“Wait. If he shows up on the map, how come the twins have never noticed the fact a dot called Peter follows their brother around?” Harry asked.

Draco stared at Harry dumbly for a long time. 

Assuming Potter had this bit of parchment and had gotten from the Weasleys the first time around, how come no one noticed the Weasel being followed around by a dot called Peter Pettigrew? Because, seriously, how could you not wonder about that? 

* * *

Operation Get Rat did not go well. For starters, the rat seemed to feel safe within the walls of Slytherin House, thus did not willingly travel outside and if he did, he was forever with Weasley. Hermione stomped on any plan that involved jumping Weasley and wrestling the rat from him. No matter how much Harry and Draco pleaded, she would point out that if they did such a thing, Weasley would want proof and they’d have to let him (as well as the professors) know about the map.

Harry wouldn’t give the map up. It became like another limb to Harry. Any free time Harry had to spare, he was searching the map. 

“Did Potter have the map?” Hermione asked the night before she left for break.

“I believe so. It explains his floating head in Hogsmeade third year. And why the Weasel was talking to himself in front of the Shirking Shake,” Draco remembered. 

“Floating head?”

“Yes, one that threw mud at me and my minions,” Draco said, lowering his voice a little and using a funny accent. 

Hermione giggled. “You with minions?”

“I did. They were both brain dead,” Draco said. “Anyways, I saw the Weasel alone and though, ‘Oh, let’s mock him and his family!’ so I did and mud starting flying out of thin air at me then Potter’s head appeared and vanished. Of course, I turned tailed and ran to Snape and told him. Don’t think Potter got in trouble. I beat the Weasel back to school, but somehow Harry beat both of us.” 

“Well, he had the map,” Hermione quietly reminded him as they watched the snow fall through the window. She glanced over at the chaos of Gryffindor Tower the night before break. Fred and George were clearly blowing off steam by setting off fireworks all over the place. Oliver Wood was attacking Harry with a magazine, a parchment roll and pointing a lot with this mysterious third hand he’d randomly sprout somehow. Wood was likely telling Harry which broom to buy himself. Percy had his nose buried in a book about power and politics. Neville was tending to a plant he’d found somewhere and was dead set on bringing back to life. Ginny and Atlanta were in a corner with Luna giggling about something. It was nice to see Atlanta behaving like a normal kid for once and not the odd, complicated adult like person she’d wound up after her ordeal. 

Hermione poked Draco to get his attention. 

“Yes?”

“We never did go over third year in detail. And I’m getting confused and lost. I know Sirius is innocent, but there so many other times I’m so confused about what you’re thinking. Harry’s getting…suspicious,” she said in a soft voice that was almost lost in the chaos of the room. She pulled a parchment out and held it out to him. “Mind filling it in?”

“I didn’t do third year?”

“Not passed Black escape, Lupin’s appointment and you were sure that was when the rat escaped to Marv,” Hermione explained. “I looked last night.”

Draco frowned, but took the parchment. 

“What does the rat do this year? Does he just escape? Does he go straight to …er…Marv? You mentioned that last year when we first talked about this that Weasley and I fought a lot about my cat, but this time Weasley and I are in different houses. But, we still seem to fight about my cat.”

“You do?”

“My cat keeps trying to break into Slytherin House,” Hermione admitted. “So, I think something is there. Didn’t Harry mention something a while ago? He helped me out once when Crookshanks escaped the Tower.”

“He did,” Draco remembered.

“While we’re on break, could you write every tiny thing that you know happened. I don’t care if it’s got nothing to do with Potter and Black, just write it down. And do fourth year too. I have a horrible sinking feeling no matter what we do, Harry will wind up competing in that tournament you mentioned.”

“I know. I don’t know how he got entered,” Draco whispered. “I just know…it did not end well. And not just because Moldy returned.” 

The pair sat in silence. Draco took the rolled up parchment they’d charmed last year so only they could read it. It was all the information Draco remembered about the old future. He tucked it into his own pocket so he could look at it when he was alone. He wasn’t sure if he had anything of value to add to the parchment about third or fourth year than he’d added last year.  


	14. A Medley of Moments

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Draco was awakened Christmas morning by an earthquake. Once again, he was befuddled on how an earthquake was occurring in Scotland, but quickly discovered it was Earthquake Harry, not an actual earth shaking event that jerked him from his dreams. 

“What, Insane One?” Draco grumbled, attempting to get out of Harry’s grips. 

They were the only two left in the dormitory, so Draco wasn’t too worried about waking anyone when he jerked away from Harry with too much force and toppled out of bed causing a rather loud crash as things fell off his bed. 

“LOOK!”

Draco pulled himself to his feet using his bed and stared at the bouncing green eyed menace on the other side holding a broom. 

“You’ve got a broom.”

Draco frowned, wondering why this was such a big deal. So, Harry had a broom. Clearly, his mother had gotten him another one since Harry failed to actually— 

“FIREBOLT! SOMEONE GAVE ME A FIREBOLT!” Harry shouted loud enough to wake the dead. 

Draco was suddenly wide awake. 

Firebolt. The word coursed through Draco’s blood and he felt suddenly quite cold. And very awake. 

“Look! It’s perfect! Look!”

Harry shoved the broom across the bed, willingly allowing Draco to hold it. Draco eyed the broom for a beat before Harry shoved at it him again. Taking the broom as if it were made of glass, Draco held his breath as he handled it. 

He’d never touched a Firebolt before.

The handle glittered and the diamond polish shone even in the dull light of morning. Draco could feel the broom vibrating in his hands. He tightened his grip, afraid it was going to jump out of his hands at any moment. The tail was a picture of perfection with smooth, streamlined birch twigs that seemed to have been made identical by magic. Draco glanced at the handle again and studied the golden registration number. 

Harry had broom seven.

Seven. 

The number roared through his mind loudly.

Seven was a magical number.

Draco dropped the broom.

Instead of falling to the bed, the broom decided it would be best to hover at the right height for mounting, only it was much too low for Draco. The broom had clearly registered the fact it belonged to the much shorter and smaller Harry Potter. 

“Who sent this to you?” Draco asked in a hushed voice, reaching out to touch the broom again. He was almost afraid it’d shock him or something. 

Nothing happened other than the broom continued to vibrate with life. Draco fingered the registration number, slowly tracing the single digit.

It had to be important that Harry had broom seven out of the hundreds made. Before the broom even came out, the Irish team had put an order in and there were more than seven people on the National Quidditch team of Ireland. 

And the Ireland wasn’t alone in pre-ordering brooms, so logically, many of the national teams had done the same. So, it was highly unlikely that someone who ordered a broom after Harry’s got eaten by a tree would have snatched up number seven. 

“Er….”

Draco looked up to see a sheepish looking Harry turning around to search through the wrapping paper that exploded on his bed. Harry had only unwrapped the broom, but it seemed to have been wrapped in miles of paper for some reason. 

“There’s no card,” Harry said. “Even the Invisibility Cloak came with a note.”

“That it did,” Draco agreed, wondering what he ought to do. The moment he’d seen it was a Firebolt, he’d dismissed the fact his mother had gotten the broom. 

There was a solid reason Draco had never touched a Firebolt before today. 

The last Firebolt didn’t kill Potter, thus it could be assumed this one wouldn’t kill Harry. But…

Draco had an insane urge to give the broom to McGonagall and ask her to strip it.

Another part of him screamed that was pointless. No one could tamper with a Firebolt. 

And Potter hadn’t been killed by his broom. 

Harry sat down on his bed and frowned, staring at the broom that was still hovering above Draco’s bed waiting for Harry to leap on and take a lap around the room. 

“Draco?”

“Yes?”

“Who would give me a broom like this?”

“Someone who has missed twelve birthdays and Christmases,” Draco said without thinking. His head snapped up and met Harry’s stunned expression. “Well, think about it?”

“Where would Sirius Black get that kind of money to get me something like this? And how? He’s an escaped convict!”

Draco shifted on his feet and sighed. “Goblins hate the Ministry. Black could turn up there and they’d give him what he wanted and he’d go on his merry way. He is also in control of one of the largest fortunes Gringotts has the privilege of hiding. Sirius Black is Lord Black, head of the House of Black, both branches. Likely. Even if he’s not, I’m pretty sure he had money that’s just been sitting around collecting dust since he’s been in jail. I think Mother told me that her one of her uncles left Sirius all his gold when he died, which left Sirius pretty well off even without the Black family fortune. Why do you think Altair Black is so interested in getting himself established as the Head of the Black family in Britain? Besides the power, there’s the gold.”

Harry appeared to have lost control of his mouth. It continued to open and close. 

“I think we ought to give it to McGonagall,” Draco said before he could stop himself. He blinked several times, feeling off kilter. 

“What? Why? Black doesn’t want to kill me…I thought.”

“We don’t know if it was Black who sent it to you!” Draco exclaimed, feeling oddly like words were being drawn out of his mouth against his will. “It might have been a Death Eater or even Marv himself!”

Harry snorted. “How would Marv in his current form send me something?”

“Help of a minion.”

“Where’d he get a minion?”

“Same place he got the last one,” Draco darkly replied. He swallowed and waited to say something else that felt off, but he felt as if he was under his own control again.

It didn’t last long. 

“The fact there’s no note is…upsetting. I say we give it to McGonagall and allow her to make sure it’s not cursed or anything weird. I’m sure she’ll be done in time for your next game. Hell, I bet they’ll finish before Wood comes back and goes back to pestering you about brooms.”

Harry reached out and grabbed the hovering broom, sighing. “It doesn’t feel evil.”

“I doubt it is. Better safe than sorry,” Draco said, meeting the green eyes of his best friend. He wanted to shout the broom was perfectly fine, but his tongue felt like a two ton weight. It took him a moment before he was able to say, “Remember you telling me you do stupid things where you could wind up dead?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, if it is cursed, you’d die.”

Harry scowled. “Fine. Do you think she’s up or should we just carry on opening the presents?”

“We’ll give it to her at lunch. Let’s open the gifts,” Draco said, putting a smile on his face. 

Harry instantly turned around and began to open his gifts. Draco poked his tongue and frowned. Under his breath he uttered a few choice words. He said outrageous things that weren’t true. 

They came out easily.

The only thing that refused to come out had to do with not giving McGonagall the broom. 

So, this was what it was like when Time decided you weren’t going to mess with something. Glancing at Harry, who was frowning at a book, Draco wondered if this was what he felt like last year when he desperately wanted to follow the spiders. Or if Time just hated Draco so she was torturing him by yanking words out of his mouth against his will… 

Likely the latter. 

* * *

McGonagall looked like she’d swallowed a canary the moment Harry walked in carrying the Firebolt. Then she frowned when Harry thrust the broom at her and asked her to check it out, as it’d arrived without a note.

“That’s an awfully expensive gift,” Snape sneered from his spot at the table. 

“Or it’s one to make up for a lifetime of gifts,” Dumbledore serenely offered. “But, best make sure it is safe for Mr Potter to fly. Good thinking, Harry.”

Dumbledore beamed at Harry, then looked up at Draco and winked. 

Draco turned pink and quickly sat at the almost empty table. There was only one table set up for the meal. Dumbledore clearly thought it was silly to sit separate tables when there were only the professors and three other students besides Harry and Draco. 

“Well, dig in!” Dumbledore shouted as McGonagall stared at the Firebolt in her hands looking at a loss for the first time in her life. 

As Draco was reaching for the roast potatoes, the doors to the Great Hall flew open. Everyone looked to find Professor Trelawney gliding towards them as if she had put wheels on her shoes and a string was simply tugging her forward. She was dressed for the holidays in a green sequined dress, lots of gold bangles and a shimmery white shall. She looked more like an oversized dragon fly than Draco remembered. 

“Sybill! What a surprise!” Dumbledore beamed, standing instantly. 

“I was crystal gazing, Headmaster,” she started in her mistiest voice. “To my utter confusion, I saw two versions of this event and myself at both.”

Dumbledore looked pleasantly confused.

“I must to bow to fate, as no matter the time, I come to dinner,” she said, looking around with a rather odd expression on her face. 

“Well, best draw you up a chair,” Dumbledore said. 

And he did indeed draw up a chair out of thin air. The chair landed with a thud next to McGonagall, who had finally put the Firebolt away somewhere and looked to be herself once more. Trelawney did not sit instantly, but seemed to be counting.

“We shall not be thirteen,” she muttered, frowning. “Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!”

“Good to know, Sybill,” McGonagall snipped. “Do sit down, the turkey is getting stone cold.”

Trelawney lowered herself into the chair and gazed around the table as if she was trying to figure out something that was baffling her. Her eyes landed on Draco and she startled. “You are not in my class.”

“No, ma’am.”

“You were at some point,” she pressed.

Harry and Draco exchanged looks. 

“No, sorry.” 

“You are not a red head,” she stated, pointing out the obvious. 

“No, I’ve never had red hair,” Draco offered, knowing she was referring to the fact she’d seen Ron and likely Hermione at the table in her other vision. If that was what she even had. Who knew what the old bat had seen? 

“Someone is missing,” she went on, gazing around the table. Her eyes landed in a blank spot next to Draco.

“Yes, Professor Lupin is ill again,” Dumbledore offered. He waved his hand indicating that everyone should start serving themselves again. “Most unfortunate it should happen during the holidays.”

“But, surely you knew that already, Sybill,” McGonagall pressed, raising her eyebrows.

“I didn’t mean Professor Lupin,” Trelawney snapped, pulling her glittering shall closer around her shoulders. “I meant the bushy haired girl who doesn’t believe.”

McGongall’s eyebrows got lost in her forehead they rose so high. Trelawney failed to notice this fact and bristled. 

“I also do not enjoy parading the fact I am All-Knowing in front of others. It makes most uncomfortable if I know all before I ask,” she explained, her voice loosing it’s misty tone suddenly.

“That explains a lot,” McGongall replied tartly.

Trelawney narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak again, but Dumbledore loudly asked Snape if he’d break a cracker and the explosion sent blue smoke all over the place that resulted in a funny looking hat that made Harry giggle. 

* * *

Seeing Hagrid had been quite subdue during Christmas lunch, Draco and Harry trekked through the snow to his hut and banged on the door. 

“Is he out?” Harry asked, standing on his toes to peer into the frosty window.

Draco pressed his ear to the door and frowned. “No. I believe he’s in there.”

Harry fell back to his heels and banged on the door shouting, “Hagrid, we know are you in there! Open up!”

Heavy footsteps sounded and the door flew open. Hagrid looked forlorn and his eyes were red-rimmed.

“Yeh’ve heard? Oh, yeh’ve heard!”

Hagrid suddenly flung himself at Harry and began to cry, huge crocodile tears falling down his cheeks. Also, being at least twice the size of a normal adult male, Hagrid almost took Harry out with his hugging. Harry only managed to remain somewhat upright due to the fact Fang decided to stand behind Harry and be used as a chair. With difficulty, Draco managed to pry Hagrid off Harry and the pair steered the large man to the table where he collapsed into a chair that could hold his weight.

“Heard what, Hagrid?” Harry asked. “We were just worried as you seemed down at lunch. And it’s Christmas!”

“What’s this?” Draco asked, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach at the sight of a clearly tear stained official-looking letter. 

Whatever Hagrid said to explain was lost in a fresh round of sobs and tears. Harry looked worried and bewildered, all thoughts of a cheery visit gone. 

“What is it, Draco?”

“A notice.”

Harry gave Draco a look telling him he better quickly explain. Swallowing thickly, Draco picked the letter up and read aloud:

_Dear Mr Hagrid,_

_Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your third year class, we have accepted the assurance of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident. However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr Franklin Nott. This matter will be taken before the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on 20 April and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee’s offices in London on that date. In the mean time keep the hippogriff in question tethered and isolated._

Draco stopped reading, as he figured he didn’t need to read off the list of governors. Looking up, Draco didn’t need to voice his concern in regards to the welfare of the in question hippogriff. Harry knew as well as he did that Nott’s dad would buy off the Committee and the hippogriff was toast. 

“Did Mr Nott get to the school governors?” Harry asked.

“I doubt it. This would be the action they’d take if any parent filed a complaint where a student got injured by a magical creature during a lesson,” Draco admitted. He looked back at the letter. 

There was a noise from behind Draco, making Draco squeak and whirl around. Behind him was the hippogriff in question— the same one who’d attacked Draco in another life.

Breathing became rather hard. 

While he knew he was at fault for the attack, he still had an unnatural and understandable fear of hippogriffs. It was a gut reaction to the creature. He simply was unable to help it. 

He was the same way around ferrets. 

“I couldn’t leave him tied up out there in the snow!” Hagrid wailed. “All on his own! At Christmas!”

“Er, Draco?” Harry asked, appearing at Draco’s side. “Bow slowly and don’t break eye contact.”

Draco managed to nod and did as Harry requested. Suddenly, the hippogriff bowed in return.

“Oh, he likes ya!” Hagrid choked out. “Go on, pet him!”

Draco inched forward and patted the creature on the beak, then slowly retreated. Harry looked mildly amused as he moved and began to scratch the creature behind the ears. Draco backed up till he hit the table and turned around to face a half sobbing Hagrid.

“Tea? We need tea,” Draco announced, eyes darting around quickly. “Tea is needed.”

Hagrid blinked a few times before gesturing to the area where he kept tea. Draco scurried in that direction, which was luckily on the other side of the hut from where the hippogriff was located. 

“Hagrid, can you mount a defense?” Harry inquired. “Like, er, court? Wizards have courts right? With judges and lawyers?”

“Won’t make no difference,” sobbed Hagrid. “Them Disposal devils…they’re all friends with Franklin Nott. In his pocket now that Lucius Malfoy— ”

Hagrid stopped speaking and silence fell in the room. Draco cleared his throat and used an odd looking thing near the fireplace to put the kettle on the hook that seemed to be used to hang things from to cook over the fire. He pulled his head out of the fireplace, straightened his jumper and turned to face an ashamed looking Hagrid.

“Now that my father has been banished to France,” Draco finished with a politely bland expression on his face. “Mr Nott has inserted himself into the spot my father left vacant. I do not blame you for thinking ill of the man. He was not…the best.”

Hagrid seemed at a loss for works, so he started crying again, wallowing about how Draco had managed turn out to be such a nice boy despite his father (only he didn’t voice that last part— it went unsaid). By the time Draco and Harry extracted themselves from the hut, Draco felt uncomfortable. 

He was not a nice boy. 

He’d never been a nice boy. 

He’d been a horrible child and remained that way till circumstance changed him for the better when he was on the cusp of adulthood. The past three years of reliving his childhood had been a blessing, but he felt guilty for giving people the wrong impression of him somehow. If the Dark Lord had not returned, Draco would have turned out just like his father. He would be cold, cruel and arrogant. He’d abuse House Elves, belittle those he saw under him and ignore his own heir no matter how the boy tried to get his attention.

Just as his father had done to him. It was a brutal cycle.

At least he’d broken it by traveling back in time. 

“Draco?”

“Huh?” 

Draco blinked, not realizing they had reached the portrait hole. The portrait was shouting abuse at them. The Fat Lady had yet to return and the painting Dumbledore had found to replace her was one of a pudgy knight who loved to challenge Gryffindors to duels.  

“You okay?” Harry asked over the paintings ranting. “You’ve been strange since Hagrid mentioned you’re a good kid…well, compared to your, er, dad. I guess Hagrid would have known him, huh, when he was at school? I mean, he never out right said you were better than your dad, but….Draco?”

Hagrid would have known of Lucius, but not known him. Lucius Malfoy would never have looked twice at Hagrid. Hell, Draco didn’t till the man became his professor and he’d been forced to pay minimal attention. 

How many other people had Draco turned away from because of his arrogance at believing he was better than everyone?

Too many. 

“I just…”

“It’s okay if you miss him. He’s your dad,” Harry said, misreading Draco completely. 

“I don’t miss him. I just…”

This would be easy if Harry had known, if Harry had believed him when Draco blurted out the truth to have Harry laugh at him. 

But Harry hadn’t believed him.

Draco sighed. “Nothing. I just…don’t think I’m nice.”

Harry snorted. “Or good?”

“I’m not good. I brake the rules all the time,” Draco reminded Harry, letting a smirk paint his face. “Good kids abide by the rules. Hard to do that while around you, oh, Insane One.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Boring. We can still be decent kids and one day adults and live a little. Speaking of living a little, wanna get the map out and explore the castle?”

Harry had that mischievous glint in his eye and bounded off before Draco could answer. 

* * *

The remainder of holiday break saw Draco and Harry discovering more about the castle then either had ever imagined they ever would discover about the mysterious place they lived. In one of the towers they discovered a room that was home to an odd assortment of objects. Harry knew what many were and confided that many of the objects were Muggle joke objects. 

It was a very strange room. 

“Why are they in here?” Draco asked, holding a red circle, floppy thing Harry told him was a whoopee cushion. He threw it over his shoulder and picked up a yellow duck. 

He had no idea how a rubber duck was used as a joke object. Or what the purpose of a rubber duck was. 

“No clue. Look at these,” Harry commented, prying open a crate he’d unearthed on the other side of the room. “Aren’t these the exact same dishes we eat on each night?”

Draco tossed the duck back on the shelf and walked across the dusty room. No one had entered this room in years according to the dust on the cold stone floor. Draco didn’t know how Harry could kneel on the ground. It radiated cold that Draco could feel through his shoes. Reaching Harry, he peaked into the crate and found it filled with golden dishes. 

“Looks to be the case,” Draco commented, picking a plate up. He turned it over a few times, but didn’t find anything strange about it. “Do you think this is kind of like…well, a room to store random things? Like things they don’t know what to do with?”

He didn’t want to say it was like the room he’d used in the Room of Requirement when he fixed the Vanishing Cabinet, because this room wasn’t like that room. It wasn’t as large, nor did it seem to be organized chaos. It was organized and seemed to have a theme to the object within it.

Besides the dishes, it was filled with joke objects and things to pull pranks. It was a trickster’s heaven. 

“What prank would you pull with plates?” Harry inquired, turning on his knees to look behind him. 

“Pranks?”

“Yeah. I mean, joke stuff over there on the shelves…it’s not all Muggle, but mostly Muggle.” 

Harry stuck his head into a hole in the wall and yanked out another crate. He opened it to reveal goblets. Lots of glass goblets. 

Draco shrugged, putting the dish back in the crate. “No clue. The room wasn’t labeled anything was it?”

Harry pulled the map out. “Nope. Just a room. I wonder if the twins know about this room?”

“I doubt it. You can see the dust on this floor?” Draco asked, walking back to the shelves. “I doubt anyone has been in here for at least ten or more years.”

Draco began to look closer at the shelves and found that they moved to reveal more shelves behind them. He peeked behind and found a lot of ferrets. He quickly slammed the shelf shut before Harry could see. Harry was so entrenched in figuring out the dishes and goblets, he didn’t notice. Draco decided Harry didn’t know about the ferret related joke items behind the shelf of Muggle things. 

Harry grew bored with the joke room. He was more interested in learning about how to get out of school or what other secret passage ways he had yet to discover. The twins had told Harry which ones were blocked off or Filch knew about, but Harry and Draco checked them out anyways. The first one they checked was the one behind the mirror that was caved in. Harry and Draco thought they could maybe unblock it, but after a few hours they gave up. 

The other blocked one inside the castle they never found. 

“Do you think it moved?” Harry asked on the afternoon everyone was supposed to be returning to the castle. He had the map out and was staring at the tunnel and the blank wall before them. 

“What? Like that odd room near the bathroom we can’t get into?” Draco asked, feeling the wall for concealed magic. 

He felt nothing. Just like the wall near the bathroom. 

“Kind of. That room doesn’t move, but the exit to the Room of Requirement does, remember? It can dump us out of danger if need be,” Harry reminded Draco. “The Room of Requirement and that room also aren’t on the map. Mischief managed.”

Harry wiped the map and stuffed it into his pocket, the noise of the retuning students reaching their ears. 

“Maybe they didn’t know about them?” Draco suggested, dropping his hands from the wall with a sigh. 

Harry and Draco made their way back to the Gryffindor Tower, where Oliver Wood attacked Harry the moment he entered.

“Good Christmas? Did you get a broom? I’ve been doing some thinking, Harry. After the last match, you know, if the dementors show up again, well, I mean, I can’t afford to have you fall…well, you know. But, even still…did you get a broom?”

“I got a broom. I’m working on the dementor thing,” Harry replied. “Professor Lupin promised to help me with the demntor issue.”

Wood didn’t seem to comprehend anything other than Harry had a new broom, as he began to speak rapidly. So rapidly, Draco was sure he was actually speaking another language. 

Judging by Harry’s baffled expression, Wood was indeed speaking gibberish. 

“Translation: Where is it, can I see it, what model is it, did you fly it yet and how fast does it go,” Big Head Boy said from Wood’s other side. Wood nodded, breathless.

“Er, it’s with McGonagall. No, you can’t see it as it’s with McGonagall. It’s a Firebolt. I’m not sure how fast it goes because I haven’t flown it yet. It’s with McGonagall.”

Wood stared blankly at Harry, incomprehension clear on his face. 

Big Head Boy sighed and asked, “Why is it with McGonagall?”

“Well, uh, it’s being checked for jinxes.”

“Jinxes?” Wood asked in a high pitched voice. “How could anyone jinx a Firebolt?”

“I dunno.”

“Who would do that?” Wood whispered as if it was treason to even think about it. He peered wide eyed at Big Head Boy, who shrugged and pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“Er, I dunno, Sirius Black?” Harry tried, clearly not believing it in the least. “He’s supposed to want me dead, right?”

Big Head Boy raised a red eyebrow and looked at Harry as if he never met him before. Wood, though, yanked at his hair, rising up to his full height suddenly. 

“What? Why would Black jinx a broom? He can’t have walked into Quality Quidditch Supply and bought a broomstick! That’s insane! He’s on the run! He’d stick out if he tried to buy a Firebolt! Where’d he get the gold? Magicked it out of thin air! And it’s a FIREBOLT!”

“Well, okay, but it showed up without a note, so I asked McGonagall to check. You know, to be safe? She told me the other day she and Flitwich are working to strip it down…”

Wood went pale and swayed a bit. Big Head Boy steadied him by his elbow.

“I’ll go talk to her. I’ll make her see sense…a Firebolt. A real Firebolt,” Wood breathed, turning around and stumbling out of the room.

Big Head Boy watched him go, sighed again, bade the third years goodbye and went off after Wood. Harry and Draco exchanged baffled looks. 

“At least he speaks Woodese,” Draco offered. 

“I guess. Maybe we should invite him to practice. Sometimes Wood speaks like that and none of us understand. He kinda gets frustrated and yanks his hair a lot,” Harry said, shrugging. “At least it only happens when he’s super excited.” 


	15. The Mark of Seven

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Narcissa had attempted to research the murders Uncle Orion had laid out before on paper, but the newspapers reported nothing other than the fact the murders had been “brutal.” The families weren’t any more help in the matter.  The Prince family was deceased— other than Severus, who knew nothing of his uncle. His mother was never in contact with her family after her marriage to a Muggle. Justin Westinburgh’s family said he had a number seven on etched on his left shoulder blade, but they’d assumed it’d been part of his obsession with the number seven (and they refused to explain his obsession passed it was a magical number, so of course Westinburgh was obsessed with it). The Goyle’s had disowned Artimis for some reason unknown to the rest of the world. Narcissa knew better than to go poking around that bees nest. The Goyle’s were a lot like Aunt Walburga when they disowned someone. 

By the holidays, there was one avenue left that Narcissa hadn’t ventured down. On the list Uncle Orion had left behind there was a name— a name written in green that wasn’t crossed off. 

There was one classmate left alive that Narcissa could easily speak to, could easily ask questions and he would answer simply because she was married to his rotten son. 

So, instead of seeing the boys for the holidays, she planned a trip to France to see Abraxas Malfoy. 

* * *

“So, my dear, what brings you to see me at this family gathering time of year?” the old man asked as she was shown into his tastefully decorated sitting room. 

Narcissa had not seen the old man at Christmastime since before she was married. He retreated to France around the time of Voldemort’s violence rose in the mid-seventies and never returned. 

“Oh, I thought I ought to visit,” she said, slowly sitting down across from the man. She primly folded her hands in her lap.  

Abraxas raised one grey eyebrow. “You do know simply because I choose to live in France does not mean I am deaf to the gossip from London.”

Narcissa sat taller and squared her shoulders. She’d tried to be discrete in her research, but clearly she’d failed. 

“I have no clue what you are doing, my dear, but as long as you’re not turning into a Muggle lover or a fool, I could care less. What do you want?”

He pinned his almost clear silver eyes on her and waited.

“Who was Tom Riddle?”

If the question caught the elder Malfoy off guard, he did not let it on. 

“I haven’t heard that name in years,” he mused, eyes still pinned on Narcissa. 

“No, I doubt it,” she murmured.  

The old man sat back in his chair and pressed his palms together. He regarded her for a long moment before saying, “He was two years behind me in school, yet chose to forget it often and confused me with my younger brother. I believe he introduced him as me for their entire school career.”

Abraxas sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. 

“He must have known it angered Septimus to be confused with me. I’m sure, due to Riddle’s higher than though attitude, it wasn’t worth his time to learn Septimus’ actual name. No matter what I told the child, he refused to listen, forever bowing and scarping at Riddle’s feet hoping one day to be remembered correctly.”

Abraxas trailed off, frowning deeply. Whatever he was thinking about was not pleasant. Septimus Malfoy had been crossed off the list Narcissa had in her pocket. Upon hearing Septimus’ behavior and connection to Riddle, Narcissa was starting to believe the man had not caught dragon pox and died as everyone had been led to believe. 

“Riddle was a magical genius, hard working, quiet, polite— the model student to those who did not know him well. He…toadied quite often to everyone around him except a few within Slytherin. Many of our Housemates fell at his knees, no matter the treatment he gave them within the walls of Slytherin House. He had a gathering by the time I graduated and I have a feeling many of the darker things that occurred within the walls of Hogwarts were Riddle’s doing— or at least his sycophants. Everyone expected him to be brilliant, go on to great and wonderful things. Someone once told me Slughorn thought Riddle would be Minister of Magic.”

At this point, Abraxas had snickered, looking very pleased about something.

“And what did the half-blood orphan do? He went to work in a shop before vanishing after the rather suspicious death of one of his clients.” 

Narcissa’s ears had latched onto that sentence and stored it for later analysis. 

“So, no one’s heard from him since?”

Abraxas shook his head. “No. The brilliant half-blood failed to uphold all the wondrous expectations he was held under. I assumed he…oh, how shall I put it? Lost his mind? Caved under the weight of glory?”

Narcissa wondered if Abraxas knew how correct he was— Tom Riddle had lost his mind. But, it was long before he’d shed the identity of Tom Riddle if going by what he’d done to Atlanta Black at sixteen was anything to go by. 

“Was that all you wanted, my dear? What I knew of Riddle?”

Abraxas looked away, cool and indifferent as he’d been trained, but Narcissa saw under the surface he was worried. 

“Did you happen to know…if Riddle had any other names?”

Abraxas turned and stared at Narcissa blankly before saying, “Well, he was an orphan. Who knows what his name was before he wound up in a Muggle orphanage.” 

“Wait, he lived in a Muggle orphanage and he was a half-blood?”

Abraxas huffed. “He claimed he was a half-blood. When he first arrived, most people thought he was…a Mudblood. A Mudblood in Slytherin— the shame.”

The old man sneered, shaking his head.

“I believe he began saying he was a half-blood just so he wouldn’t shame the name of Slytherin. Though, if he was a half-blood, he’d have to have come from some strong pureblood, but clearly, his blood was mud.”

“Clearly,” Narcissa agreed, though not in the way Abraxas likely thought.

“I assume Lord Voldemort was interested in Riddle for his power,” Abraxas added without being prompted. He raised his pressed palms to his lips and stared at Narcissa with cold silvery eyes. “It’s the only reason I can find that he’d enchant a diary the boy kept during his Hogwarts years and trust it to…my son.”

He spat out the words. He pressed his fingers to his mouth for a minute before lowering them and appearing cool and indifferent. 

“I see,” Narcissa replied.

“Tell me, during your travels to Gingotts, what did you happen to find?”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes as she stared at her father-in-law. 

“I have no interest in the gold or whatever else you Blacks keep, dear. I know you found some sort of…information,” he said, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. “It set off this current round of research you’ve buried yourself in. You are rather clever and it did sadden me to see you reduced to a sniveling society witch, but you’ve shed that skin since your son befriended Harry Potter. I know you’ve figured out the betrayal that led to your cousins imprisonment.”

Narcissa jolted, honestly surprised.

Abraxas quirked an eyebrow. “I know Sirius Black was an idiot, brash, had nails for brains, but he was loyal to those he valued. And while I might not have witnessed it, he valued James Potter above himself. And he hated the Dark Arts and everything Voldemort stood for, yes?”

“Correct.”

“It was an easy conclusion to come to,” Abraxas admitted. “So, since you’ve realized this, you’ve started on another goal. Tell me, what did you find in the vault?”

Narcissa wondered for a moment if she ought to tell Abraxas. He did not seem to be a part of the Death Eater movement, nor did he think fondly of Tom Riddle the school boy. He was also likely to find out one way or another, as he’d figured out she knew Sirius was innocent and she’d told no one her conclusions that it was Peter Pettigrew who’d betrayed the Potters. She’s also told no one she suspected Pettigrew had managed to fake his death and frame Sirius, mostly because she lacked evidence on where Pettigrew had gone after slicing his finger off. 

Narcissa took a deep breath and made a decision. 

“Uncle Orion was worried…that Lord Voldemort had marked him for death,” Narcissa admitted.

At this, Abraxas lowered his hands and appeared baffled. 

“What? Orion Black? Why would Voldemort wish the death of the heir of the Black family?”

“He was head by that point, as Great Uncle Arcturus had handed the reins over,” Narcissa reminded the old man. “Uncle Orion had figured out a secret that Voldemort wished to keep in the dark.”

“Ah,” Abraxas said, pressing his palms together again and raising them to rest at his lips. He remained in this poise for five minutes before the information sunk into his mind. “Ah! I see. Interesting. So, he did amount to something.”

Narcissa extended her head to him in agreement. Becoming the most feared Dark Lord was _something_.  

“So, he was a half-blood,” the elder Malfoy muttered almost disdainfully. “And he became the darkest and most violent Dark Lord in centuries with a parade of sniveling pureblood fools behind him.”

He remained in his thinking poise before he broke to pick up a teacup and took a sip. He lowered the cup back to the table and looked back at Narcissa. 

“What did Orion say in this letter you found?”

“Voldemort figured out how to become immortal,” Narcissa stated. 

Abraxas sat up straight, almost knocking the tiny table next to his chair over with his jerking movements. He stared at Narcissa with the fear clear in his eyes. 

“The darkest of our existence,” he muttered, looking away quickly. “Anything else?”

“Orion and his youngest son worked together in his last months and had tracked down objects that held value to…Riddle.” She liked calling him by his given name rather than his chosen one. “He also thought certain people might be marked. I believe he thought these people were marked in correlation to these items he and Regulus were gathering.”

“Oh,” Abraxas breathed. “Yes. That makes sense.”

Narcissa felt a little excitement well up and die quickly. 

Abraxas said nothing for a long time. Narcissa was not sure how long they sat in silence before Abraxas stood up and shuffled across the sitting room. He grabbed something out of a vase. He unrolled it, reading it through before stuffing it back in the vase and tapping it with his wand. The vase turned into a box— a plain pine box. Just like the one Orion had used to keep the documents Narcissa had found in the vault. Abraxas smiled when he noticed Narcissa’s face. 

“It is not a plain pine box,” he informed her, setting the box down in front of her. “To anyone not worthy of the contents it is a plain pine box, but if the box believes you worthy, it will reveal the secrets it holds. Complicated and rather expensive magic. And only those within the oldest families know of these boxes. It makes sense Orion would trust his secrets to The Pine Box.”

“As do you?”

“I have no secrets. I have information. I was very involved at the Ministry during the time this Voldemort idiot decided to make himself known before he chose less than savory manners to achieve his goals,” Abraxas stated flatly.

Narcissa nodded her agreement, eyes still on the box. 

“You know what I did during this time before I left England, as you were alive. However, as my son began to…follow the moron, I began to do more research into him and ran up against the same road blocks as everyone else. So, I decided to pay attention to what he was doing right at the moment. Open the box.”

Narcissa glanced at her father-in-law before she pulled the lid off. It took all her years of training to keep her composure not to gag at the sight that greeted her.

“Not pretty pictures,” Abraxas agreed. “Those are photos from the scenes of Vold—Riddle’s crimes. The Aurors were trying their damnedest to pin them on him and his little group, but as you know were unable. I had a friend, an Auror friend, who gave me all the photos they took when they’d be call to the scene. I’m sure Orion had a similar friend, or he wouldn’t have figured out that some of the deaths were quite different. Go through the photos.”

Narcissa did, even though she wished she didn’t have to. Many of them weren’t as bad as the first photos she’d seen— the Killing Curse was after all a curse that left the victim unmarked. Some, though, were clearly done by the more…mentally unstable Death Eaters. Ones like her sister, who liked to play with their food before getting down to business. 

“Now, what do you notice about photo set one, seven, fourteen, twenty-seven, and forty-nine?” Abraxas asked after ten minutes. 

“They are neat, except for…the seven carved into the skin in various places,” Narcissa admitted, realization dawning on her. “That’s the mark! A number seven?”

She had thought it’d be more elaborate than that. 

“I know those aren’t marked with names, but I’m sure you’ll be able to deduce who is who based on your list,” Abraxas stated. 

It was at this point, he stood up and excused himself. A few minutes later, a House Elf informed Narcissa she was to take the box with her, as it was now hers and Master Malfoy apologized for being unable to see her out. 

* * *

Number seven was Julian Westinburgh, a fellow Hogwarts student who clearly had managed to get on Riddle’s bad side. He was much younger than Riddle, likely in the same year as Atlanta/Calliope Riddle. Narcissa itched to ask Atlanta more about Riddle, but knew she’d never get close to the girl. After Atlanta had been released from St Mungo’s, her father had locked her up in their London home and allowed no contact with the outside world. Narcissa was honestly surprised the child had been allowed to go back to school. From what Draco had written, Atlanta was different, but not unwell as she’d been upon her return. 

One thing was clear: she did not freely discuss her journey to the past. 

Number fourteen was Zane Prince, fellow classmate and last living Prince. Riddle ended a long line of wizards in taking out Prince. She wasn’t sure why Prince was chosen, other than maybe having been part of Riddle’s gang at Hogwarts and a Death Eater later.

Artimis Goyle was twenty-seven. 

Forty-nine was Orion Black. 

Those photos has been difficult to look at due to the fact Narcissa knew the victim. It appeared as if Orion had put up no fight whatsoever when Riddle had come for him, as his body lacked any sign of struggle. No bruises, cuts or abrasions as the others all seemed to have. His face also lacked the signs of hopelessness or fright. Out of every single set of photos, only Orion Black looked at peace with meeting his death at Riddle’s hand. 

Photo set number one explained Abraxas’ interest to begin with. 

It was his younger brother. 

The number seven was etched into the younger Malfoy’s forehead, the blood dried and crusty by the time the photo was taken. He looked young and terribly…disappointed.  

Septimus Malfoy had died in 1947, a year after Riddle had vanished from public. From the little she knew of her dead uncle-in-law, he’d died of dragon pox contracted while he was in Albania on holiday. 

Clearly, he’d not died while on holiday of dragon pox. 

The mark appeared on his forehead, meaning that was where the Killing Curse had hit. Uncle Orion had the mark on his forehead as well, while Westinburgh, Prince and Goyle all were marked on their backs. 

It said something about how these people died. 

Looking between Uncle Orion’s peaceful face and Septimus Malfoy’s anguished one something occurred to Narcissa and she blinked repeatedly hoping she’d seen something incorrectly. 

She shook her head and closed her eyes. She massaged her temples and decided she needed to stop looking at crime scene photos. Upon opening her eyes, the marks were still there and she still had a sinking feeling.

“Harry was supposed to be a horcrux,” she whispered, making her thoughts verbal and a reality. She traced the mark on Orion’s forehead, in a similar spot to Harry’s scar. Everyone assumed the scar on Harry’s head was due to the fact he’d survived the Killing Curse. What if it was because he’d survived something else all together? 

Shaking her head, Narcissa told herself she wasn’t going to think about this till she was sure. The one thing she was sure on was the fact Riddle had clearly made more than _a few_ horcruxes. Uncle Orion had pointed her to three and she was in possession of five marked victims.

Pulling out a piece of parchment, she wrote to Madam Bones requisition a lunch date. While not in charge of the Aurors, Madam Bones would have access to all the crime scene photos used for trials. And if anyone had a huge file waiting for prosecution it was Tom Riddle AKA Lord Voldemort. 


	16. Priorities Sorted

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

As January plodded on, classes continued. Draco was thankful he’d given up Care for Magical Creatures, as spending mornings on the grounds in the frigid January air was not Draco’s idea of fun. Harry didn’t seem to mind, which meant little as Harry had proven over and over he was rather mad with the side of mental. 

“When does Harry start his anti-dementor lessons?” Hermione asked one afternoon appearing out of thin air in front of Draco in the library.

“His what? And where did you come from? Did you practice being a B-2?” Draco asked. 

“How do you know what a B-2 is?”

“Harry.”

Hermione lowered herself into the seat across from Draco and began to get her things out. 

“So, when are the anti-dementor lessons starting?”

“Excuse me?”

Hermione leveled Draco with a withering look. 

“Oh. Yeah. When he learns a bit of advanced magic at the ripe age of thirteen,” Draco muttered.

“Draco, we’ve already learned rather advanced magic for our age bracket thanks to you. Are you jealous?”

“Of Harry? No. But…I’d like to know how to ward those buggers off,” Draco admitted, hiding his face behind his too long hair.

“You don’t know how?”

Looking up, he found her frowning at him. Draco shook his head, sticking his nose into a book, taking refuge behind his hair again. He knew Hermione was watching him and waiting for to explain why he was unable to produce something that Harry was going to be able to do. 

“Do they not teach it?”

Draco snorted. “They might have if they ever had a proper DADA teacher or that my seventh year wasn’t a total waste. Most wizards can’t produce a Patronus. Though, Potter taught his loyal band of followers, so it mustn’t be that hard.”

“You’re not jealous, your bitter,” Hermione realized softly. 

Draco continued to stare at his text book. Hermione allowed the topic to drop. 

* * *

Harry had his first lesson to ward of dementors on Thursday evening. Draco waited up for the green eyed menace, who appeared at roughly nine in the evening munching on a chocolate bar and a contemplative look on his face. 

“So, how’d it go?” Draco asked as Harry wandered towards Draco. 

“Oh, fine, I guess,” Harry said, plopping down on the couch next to Draco. “I didn’t produce one— a Patronus. Just some wispy smoke, which Lupin said was good for a first try, especially since I’m thirteen.”

Draco eyed the chocolate bar. “Did you face a real one?”

Harry shook his head. “Nope. I faced a boggart.”

“So, er, how do you produce one?”

“What do you mean? You don’t know?” Harry asked, looking bemused. “But you’re a wizard.”

“So are you and until tonight you didn’t know,” Draco reminded Harry.

“But…you just know all about magic,” Harry pointed out, frown appearing on his face.

“Well, warding off demenotrs isn’t exactly high on most people’s list of useful magic. Cleaning spells, healing spells, and wards are another matter.”

Harry hummed his agreement. “Well, it’s just a charm, but you have to have a real strong happy memory behind it. Like Atlanta mentioned.”

Draco frowned.

“I got the most results out of thinking about when I realized I was leaving Privet Drive,” Harry admitted. “But I don’t think that was strong enough. It’s gotta be really strong memory, I guess. It’s hard. I feel like I just played Quidditch in the wind for ten hours.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Well, what’s the spell?”

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Harry replied, shoving the last bit of chocolate into his mouth. “I’m knackered. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry slid off the couch and wandered up the stairs. Draco closed the book he was reading and began pondering if he could teach himself the spell. 

Did he even have a happy memory strong enough to conjure a Patronus? 

Not likely. 

He did have a few happyish memories since he’d started his life over again, but he wasn’t sure if they’d really do the trick. 

Well, if he really wanted to figure it out, he’d just wait for Harry to teach them all DADA fifth year…if that happened again. 

Setting his jaw, Draco opened his book again and went back to reading. 

* * *

Besides fretting over how Hermione was able to do all her classes and not be in five places at once, Harry was only worried about Quidditch. Slytherin was steamrolled by Ravenclaw near the start of term, which caused Wood to go into overdrive at getting the Firebolt back. He was utterly bewildered when McGonagall yelled at him when he didn’t stop pestering her. 

“Honestly. She got a bit shirty with me. Told me I’d got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive,” Wood relayed, raking a hand through his hair while wearing a rather bewildered expression. “Just because I told her I didn’t care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first.”

Wood shook his head in disbelief while Big Head Boy slapped him upside the head.

“What was that for?” Wood asked, rubbing the back of his head.

“Honestly, Oliver,” Big Head Boy sighed. 

“She thought I’d said something terrible! She yelled at me! Do you know how scary that is?” 

“Of course she yelled at you! You said you didn’t care if Harry fell off his broom!”

“As long as he caught the Snitch,” Wood added unhelpfully.

Big Head Boy stared at Wood as if he didn’t know him, then turned on his heel and stalked off.

“What?”

“Priorities, Wood,” Draco muttered, trying really hard not to laugh. The look of bewilderment on Wood’s face was priceless. 

“I tend to fall off my broom without it being cursed,” Harry offered, a contemplative look on his face. “And I don’t seem to die, I know, but if it’s cursed and I fall off, I might die.”

“I don’t want you to die!” Wood shouted. “Oh! Percy! I don’t want Harry to die!”

Wood shot off after his boyfriend, while Draco and Harry both tried really hard not to giggle. 

“I guess I ought to order a new broom. McGongall doesn’t seem to know when it’ll be done,” Harry sighed after the giggles had worn off. “I don’t want a new broom, though.”

“Just be patient. I’m sure they’ll get it back to you before the game,” Draco assured.

Potter had the broom at his next game, why shouldn’t Harry?

* * *

Wood and Harry continued to dog McGonagall and Flitwick on the status of the Firebolt as January faded into February. Harry also continued with his lessons on how to ward off dementors, but didn’t seem to be making any progress and was getting frustrated. He’d return to the tower chomping on his chocolate bar and wearing a scowl and refused to tell Draco what had happened. One evening he looked more pale than usual, dragging something behind him, and sat down next to Draco. After a long moment he asked, “Have you heard of a Dementor’s Kiss?”

“Yes.”

Harry stared for a long time till he announced, “Lupin told me that was the fate that awaited Black.”

“The rat is paramount,” Draco reminded him.

To an outsider this statement wouldn’t fit with what they were talking about, but Harry’s head snapped up and something shown in his eyes. Hope. Resolution. Relief. 

“The rat is paramount,” Harry agreed. “The rat will set him free.”

This made Harry giggle.

“The truth will set him free,” Hermione announced, appearing out of nowhere.

Harry and Draco both jumped and stared at the bushy haired girl who had huge, dark bags under her eyes. It almost appeared as if she’d gotten into a fist fight. Her eyes were purpled, her hair was a disaster and her tie was crooked and robe undone. 

“How the hell did you get in here?” Harry asked.

“That new portrait is a moron. He changes the passwords so often, I’m amazed anyone can remember. I had to let Neville in as he’d forgotten the password and had lost the piece of paper he’d written them down on. That stupid little knight. Honestly, he’s— never mind. Have you seen Crookshanks?” she asked, looking worried. “No one’s seen him in a few days. I’m so worried.”

“No, sorry,” Harry said. “Did you check Slytherin?”

She nodded. “Blaise hasn’t seen him.”

It was left unsaid that Weasley had been less than polite when she’d inquired. 

“Harry, what is that you’re holding?” Hermione asked, her eyes suddenly going to what Harry was holding in his hand.

“Oh. Oh!” Harry said, his whole demeanor suddenly changing. “OH! McGonagall gave this back to me! It’s safe!”

Harry leapt to his feet and brandished the broom around in front of himself.

“YOU GOT IT BACK?”

Wood had appeared out of thin air, evidently pulling the same trick Hermione had been pulling all year. He grabbed Harry and shook him by the shoulders till Harry looked like he was rattled out of his mind.

This got the entire room’s attention and soon Harry was gone in a crowd of people who all wanted to either hold the Firebolt or wanted to later fly it. In the chaos, Hermione went missing and Draco was never able to ask her how she’d known the password when Neville hadn’t— not that was so far fetched, as Neville did tend to forget. There was also the fact  the new painting, Sir Cadogan, seemed to change the password ten times a day. If Draco forgot, he hazarded a guess and got it right after three. 

After ten minutes, Draco got fed up with the Firebolt love fest and retired to the dormitory. He was in there for about ten minutes when he got bored and went over to Harry’s trunk and dug the Maurader’s Map out to figure out where Hermione had gotten to. He saw her dot near the Slytherin dorms.

“I thought she said she’d already been down there?”

Shrugging, Draco packed the map in his pocket and headed back downstairs. Harry looked miserable as he hopped around attempting to get his Firebolt back from Wood, who was almost drooling over the handle.

“ _Accio Firebolt_ ,” Draco whispered with a flick of his wand.

The broom zoomed across the room and into Draco’s hand. Since he was near the exit, he exited and waited a moment till Harry appeared, looking honestly thankful.

“Thanks,” Harry said, holding out his hand for the broom. Draco handed it over. “While I know it’s a great broom, did they really need to manhandle it so much?”

Harry looked over the polished handle but failed to find any fingerprints. 

“You going to attempt to store that in the dormitory or you just going to carry it around with you?”

“Where are you going?” Harry asked instead of answering.

“To look for Hermione.”

“I thought she was in there,” Harry said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 

“No, she vanished shortly after you made the broom appear,” Draco said. “I looked on the map and it said she was down near the Slytherin dorms again. Figured I’d help her look for the cat.”

“Is the cat on the map?”

“What?”

“The cat, is it on the map?”

“OH!”

Draco pulled the map out of his pocket and opened it up. They both looked around the area Hermione was searching, but didn’t see any animal by the name of Crookshanks.  They spent fifteen minutes searching the entire map, but never saw Crookshanks name. Just to check his theory, he looked around for Trevor the Escaping Toad. 

There was no Trevor on the map. (Well, except someone named Trevor Hammer, who Draco was sure a Ravenclaw seventh year— mostly due to the fact the boy was in the seventh year boy’s Ravenclaw dormitory.) 

The owls also failed to show up on the map.

Conclusions: map did not show animals. 

“Is the rat on there?” Harry asked, his eyes scanning.

Draco frowned. “No. I don’t see him with Weasley. Nor in the dorms. Where would he have gone?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go help Hermione search. I guess that answers that question. Map doesn’t show pets.”

Draco nodded and folded the map up, offering it to Harry to carry, but he indicated Draco could hold on to it. Harry swung the broom up over his shoulder and started off. Draco rolled his eyes, but followed. 

The boys made their way down to the dungeons. They were about to round the corner to where the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was located when they heard Weasley bellowing.

“LOOK! LOOK! LOOK!”

“Ronald, what is it?” Zabini asked, sounding calm and collected. “Stop yelling, breathe and explain yourself.”

“LOOK!”

“Ronald, what—” Hermione started.

Draco and Harry sped up and rounded the last corner to find Zabini and Hermione on their hands and knees looking around and under tables and chairs in an abandoned storage room while Weasley brandished a sheet around.

“SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!”

“Did he chew up the sheet again?” Zabini asked, slowly getting to his feet. He brushed the dust off of his robes and looked utterly bewildered. Zabini likely viewed this behavior as out of character behavior for Weasley.

“BLOOD!” Weasley yelled, red faced and waving the sheet around so no one could see what he was trying to show them. 

“Weasley,” Draco said, his voice cutting through the stunned silence that had fallen when Weasley had shouted _blood_. “If you stop flapping the sheet we might see what you mean.”

Weasley rounded and was about to shout again, but Harry grabbed the sheet (having made his broom mysteriously vanish) and smoothed it out to display the fact there was dribbles of what appeared to be blood dotting the sheet, as well as a few rather orange, long hairs that did not come out of Weasley’s head. 

“Oh,” Hermione gasped.

“Ronald…” Zabini seemed lost for words. 

“Weasley, have you seen your…seen Scabbers lately?” Harry inquired, looking up from the sheet his face a blank, careful mask.

It was a familiar mask. It was one Draco had perfected years ago, yet still had trouble hiding behind. 

Potter had never mastered the ability to hide his emotions, to hide his thoughts from his face. Instead he had always worn them on the outside for all to see. Harry had been the same. When had Harry mastered the art of wearing a blank, emotionless mask?

“No! That bloody cat was always out after him!” Weasley blustered, not even looking at Harry. “And now he’s done him in!”

“No, no, no,” Hermione moaned. 

Zabini looked at a complete loss what to do. He glanced between Harry (looking curious) and Weasley (frowning). 

“Ronald— ” Zabini began.  

“He killed Scabbers!” Weasley roared, pointing a finger at Hermione. “And she never took me seriously when I said that thing wanted to eat Scabbers and now he’s done it! HE ATE MY RAT!”

Weasley channeled his older brother when he was super frustrated and vibrated for a moment while turning tomato red. Since he didn’t dare whack Hermione upside the head, he turned heel and stalked out of the room. Zabini hurried after him, leaving Hermione alone with Harry and Draco. Harry put an arm around her shoulders.

“You can hold my broom?” Harry offered. 

Hermione looked at Harry as if he’d lost his mind. 

“Harry, you don’t seem to have your broom,” Draco pointed out. 

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said. He dropped his arm from around Hermione, walking across the classroom and yanking the broom up off the ground. 

“See!” Harry exclaimed, holding it out to Hermione. She smiled uneasily and took the broom. Despite her initial lack of interest, she clearly was in awe of the magic that went into the construction of the broom.  

“He didn’t kill him,” Draco said, folding his arms across his chest.

“How do you know?” Hermione choked, almost dropping the broom. Harry grabbed it and threw it over his shoulder again. 

Draco wanted to shout he knew because last time the rat had gone on to live until he mysterious died in his family’s wine cellar, but he figured that wasn’t the best thing to say at the moment. He also couldn’t remind Hermione that the rat was likely fixed in time as a big player. Hence, her cat couldn’t simply eat him. 

“The rat is _paramount_ ,” Draco tried, putting a lot of stress on the last word.

“The rat _is_ paramount,” Harry repeated, though he didn’t know just how true his words were.

Hermione gasped. “But…but…the sheet.”

“Faked his death once,” Draco reminded the pair of them. “Why not do it again? Sirius is still on the loose and did manage to get into the castle. He might manage to figure out how to get into the Slytherin dorms. Fooling a sentient wall might be easier then getting past a painting.”

“So, fake his death and bugger off,” Harry said. “I doubt Cookshanks ate him. Didn’t I tell you? I think the reason Crookshanks is so focused on the rat is because he knows the rat is not a real rat.”

Hermione sniffed. “No. You didn’t. I feel so out of touch. Between school and helping Hagrid…”

“Why are you helping Hagrid?”

“With his case!”

“What case?”

“Honestly you two,” Hermione huffed and exited the room, stomping off down the hallway. 

“What case?” Harry repeated.

“I think the one with the hippogriff. He told us at Christmas that there would be a trial.”

“Oh. Oops. Should we help him?”

“What can we do?”

“Read books?”

“Well, okay…”

“You’re right. We’re not the best ones to help him. Hermione is. But she’s got all that school work to do.”

“But, it would help if we looked up some cases for him to sight,” Draco admitted, remembering how beat up and exhausted Hermione looked. Guilt welled up in his stomach. “We’ve got time.”

“No, you’ve got time. Oliver is going to up our training sessions till the game,” Harry reminded Draco, indicating to the broom on his shoulder. 

Draco sighed a long suffering kind of sigh. 


	17. Questionable Break-In

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

The morning of the Quidditch game, Harry appeared at breakfast with the Firebolt thrown casually over his shoulder. Dean and Seamus were flanking Harry like some sort of honor guard, smug looks on their faces as they noticed all the attention Harry was receiving as he walked towards the table. The Slytherins all looked gobsmacked, while the other houses were excited by the sheer fact a student had a Firebolt. Throughout breakfast, a steady stream of kids came over to peak at the broom. Most just wanted a glimpse of the broom, some wanted to inquire how Harry had gotten his hands on it and a few seemed to teeter on the edge of asking Harry if they could have a go. 

“Congrats, Harry,” Cedric Diggory said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. Wood sat up straighter and glared at Diggory. “It’s an excellent replacement.”

“Thanks, Cedric,” Harry said, looking up at Cedric with a small smile and stiff nod.

Diggory again stated it was unfair how the last game ended (he still wanted a rematch to have a chance to really beat Harry), then wished Harry good luck and wandered off, giving Wood a cheery wave, failing to notice the almost hostile expression on the Gryffindor captain’s face. No sooner had Diggory gone, Nott appeared with a look on his face to rival Oliver Wood’s aimed at Diggory. 

“Sure you can handle that broom, Potter?”

“Yeah, reckon so,” Harry said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Got plenty of special features, right?” Nott drawled, unable to keep the hungry look out of his eyes as he stared at the broom. “Too bad it’s got no parachute— in case you get too near a dementor.”

“Didn’t you hear? They added that feature,” Draco quipped. “Tragically, they did not attach an arm to catch the Snitch for you.”

“Which is what you’d need,” Harry finished, a small smirk appearing on his face.

Oh, no. Draco was wearing off on Harry in leaps and bounds. First the blank expression mask and now his smirk.

The Gryffindors who’d heard all snickered, while Nott’s ears went pink and he stomped off, with Goyle and Crabbe blundering in his wake. Nott sat back down at the Slytherin table and was instantly surrounded by the rest of the Slytherin team, who were indeed inquiring if the broom was real. 

It was _so_ real. 

Breakfast finished with no further incidents. Draco did note for the first time since Harry had joined the team his first year, he didn’t seem to be a bundle of nerves as he usually was before games. He actually ate a full breakfast and didn’t simply pick at his meal. 

“So, mind trying not to get grievously harmed this game?” Draco half jokingly suggested as he and Harry reached the locker room door.

“I’ll try. It’s not like I do it on purpose,” Harry groused. “I still haven’t produced an actual Patronus.”

“So?” Draco asked. Harry leveled him with a look. Draco pressed his lips together before asking, “Why did the dementors show up last time?”

“All the happy feelings.”

“When do you feel happy?”

“When flying.”

“Exactly.”

Draco clapped Harry on the back and headed into the stadium, finding a seat next to Neville. He was shortly joined by Ginny and Atlanta. Ginny looked excited while Atlanta was wearing a bored expression that honestly looked wrong on her face. The expression left the moment the teams came out and Atlanta spotted something that had her giggling up a storm.

“What?” Ginny and Draco asked together.

“I think Harry’s got a crush,” Atlanta giggled while Ginny looked confused. Draco glanced at Harry.

“What are you talking about, Atlanta?” Ginny asked.

“See the Seeker for Ravenclaw?” 

Ginny nodded.

“He thinks she’s pretty. He’s suddenly quite nervous. He’s letting off quakes,” Atlanta laughed. “Oh, teenage boys.”

Ginny and Draco both stared at Atlanta as if she were a grindylow before meeting each other’s eyes. Draco wasn’t about to tell them Atlanta could indeed be right. Cho Chang and Potter had dated for a little while during their fifth year, but it didn’t last. Had Potter had a crush on her since he was a third year? 

Draco couldn’t see what Atlanta was seeing though, other than Harry did seem to have gotten his nerves back. He was no longer at ease, but rather shifting back and forth on his feet while waiting for the whistle. When it was blown, Harry didn’t even take off with the others. Instead, he almost fell off his broom before leaving the ground by over shooting his mount.  

Lee Jordan began his colorful commentary, which included a lot of facts about the Firebolt while also poking fun at Harry’s terrible take off. 

“It’s clearly the rider’s fault, not the broom,” Jordan pointed out while McGonagall asked him if he was being paid by the broom company to advertise it.  

Atlanta snorted. “It’s just a broom.”

“Is not,” Ginny snapped.

“Oh, it is,” Atlanta insisted, narrowing her blue-amber eyes at her friend. “Or do you just like it for the rider?”

“So, Neville, how about those Harpies?” Draco asked loudly.

“Huh?” Neville asked, looking bewildered.

“I happen to like Blaise Zabini. He’s rather good looking,” Atlanta went on. 

Ginny slugged her friend.

“Sorry. I forgot you liked him.”

“ATLANTA!”

“Though, I think Michael Croner is cuter. And doesn’t have a stick up your butt. Most Slytherins tend to have sticks up their butts. I did while I was one. Oh. My Riddle is showing, isn’t it?” Atlanta asked, looking somewhat alarmed before turning her attention back to the game.

Ginny was rather red. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and reopened them. She focused hard on the game while Neville and Draco simply stared at the two girls, utterly bewildered by their behavior. 

“Oh, look at that. Harry’s being a gentleman and not knocking Chang off her broom,” Atlanta offered, using a completely different tone of voice suddenly. She sounded…aloof suddenly. 

“KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM!” Ginny screamed along with her brothers and Oliver Wood at the same time. Ginny leapt to her feet and continued to shout along with the others as Harry attempted to look for the Snitch while Chang followed after him and attempted to knock Harry off his broom. 

“Where is Hermione?” Atlanta asked, her mouth twitching oddly.

“I am not sure, actually,” Draco admitted, frowning. 

Even though Hermione wasn’t the biggest Quidditch fan, she almost always showed up for the games Harry played in. 

“Maybe she’s sitting with her own house?” Neville suggested. 

“No, she’s not,” Atlanta said. “I don’t see her.”

“OH!” Ginny screamed out of nowhere, jumping up and down and dragging Atlanta to her feet for some reason. 

“What the…” Atlanta started, but never finished because at that moment Harry shouted and a great big silver-white, enormous something erupted from the end of his wand and galloped towards the three dementors that had entered the stadium. Draco watched the thing charge, finally realizing it was a stag moments before it crashed into the idiots wearing the dark robes. 

“What was…” Atlanta tried to ask again while Ginny screamed in joy as Harry caught the Snitch. She threw her arms around Atlanta and hugged tightly, thus cutting Atlanta’s thoughts off again. 

“What just happened?” Neville asked over the noise of the happy Gryffindors.

“Harry won the game and knocked down some fake dementors while girls are strange,” Draco explained. He tugged on Neville’s robes. “Let’s go see McGonagall give the fake dementors hell.”

Draco was almost giddy to see Nott get told off by McGonagall as Draco and his minions had been told off the first time around.

* * *

It felt like Gryffindor had already won the Cup that evening. On top of winning, the Slytherin team had gotten a month worth of detentions for their little joke. Draco only hoped they were worst detentions than Draco and his fellow teammates had suffered. 

Draco enjoyed the party, but he was really over it near one in the morning when McGonagall turned up in her tartan dressing gown and told them all to all go to bed. Draco was more than happy to go to bed. Yawning, he headed up and got ready for bed. He crawled into bed and fell straight to sleep.

Only to woken moments later— and it wasn’t by Earthquake Harry. Someone had shouted quite loudly and rudely. 

“What is going on?” he asked. His skin prickled as he tried to figure out why he was awake, along with the entire dorm. 

“We’re to all go down to the Common Room. They’re searching the castle again,” Harry muttered. “I’m pretty sure Percy’s rather loud order woke you up. That’s what woke me up.” 

“Why?”

“Sirius Black broke into Slytherin, mate,” Seamus said, falling out of bed.

“Let’s go!” Big Head Boy boomed, turning on his heel and storming out of the room. 

The Year Three boys all tumbled down the stairs and joined everyone else in the Common Room. People were all in various states of sleepiness, so the conversations weren’t very loud. Harry and Draco found a quiet corner. 

“Does anyone know anything besides he broke into Slytherin?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. 

“Why did they wake us up and make us all sit here?”

Harry shrugged, sagging next to Draco. Before Draco knew it, Harry was snoring quietly on his shoulder. 

It wasn’t until near dawn when McGonagall appeared and told them Black had escaped again. 

Draco woke Harry up and dragged him upstairs. By the time they were up the stairs, Harry was awake and took the map out and searched it again, looking for the rat. Or Sirius. Draco wasn’t sure. 

“Anything?” Draco quietly asked while the other boys all collapsed into their bed and drew the hangings shut.

“No Sirius…where could he have buggered off to?” Harry asked, staring at the map. “No rat. The Slytherins are all still in their Common Room. Guess they’re not going to bed.”

“Would you be able to sleep if someone you believed to be a crazy murdering fool broke into your dorm?”

“No. Likely I would be awake,” Harry admitted. “But…I mean…won’t some of them…I guess not. Never mind.”

Draco stared at Harry for a beat. “What were you trying to ask? If some of their parents are like my father?”

Harry looked embarrassed and ashamed. Draco sighed and raked a hand through his hair. 

“Harry, you’re my best friend and I won’t be insulted if you make the assumption that my father is not the best person and would side against you if he had to,” Draco said carefully. 

“Is that what it’ll come down to in the end? Me against you?”

“What? No.”

“You and your mom won’t side with him?”

Draco stared at the green eyed boy in shock. “Do you honestly think she’d choose him over you? Who did she exile to France?”

Harry remained silent.

“To answer that question, yes. There are quite a few students whose parents are…blood purists and sided with Voldemort in the last war who escaped punishment as my father did. No one exactly paraded the fact they were Death Eaters after the dust settled and Voldemort was the loser,” Draco quietly said, crawling onto Harry’s bed next to him. “But, the thing with…Voldemort liked his secrets, right?” 

Harry frowned and stared at the map in his lap. 

“I’m pretty sure that while the people like my father knew Black wasn’t a Death Eater, he might think Voldemort got your location out of him.”

“Wait…how did you figure out the rat then?”

Draco bit his tongue, not remembering how spun the tale for Harry. 

“I can’t remember either,” Harry said, reading Draco’s mind. “You’ve always…well, you always just…thought the rat wasn’t a rat. How did you even know? I mean, I can understand how you came to the conclusion it was out of character for Black to be a follower of Voldemort, but the rat? How did you figure that out?”

“I don’t know,” Draco honestly admitted. Well, he knew how he’d figured it out the first time, but not what he’d told Harry. 

He waited for Harry to call him out on it, but Harry simply sighed and cleared the map. He sunk backwards into bed and stared at the canopy overhead. 

“Never mind. I guess it doesn’t matter. We know the rat is Peter Pettigrew,” Harry announced. “Are you going to sleep or you going to sit there till morning?”

“It is morning,” Draco grumbled, swinging himself off Harry’s bed and onto his own bed. 

* * *

Tighter security followed the break-in. It seemed the same thing that had happened last time had happened again, as the next morning Ronald Weasley was suddenly the next best thing to sliced bread. Weasley was happy to tell his tale to anyone, so he eagerly told it to Draco and Harry when they’d found Zabini and Weasley in the library Monday afternoon relatively alone for the first time since the break-in.  

“Well, I was asleep and I heard this ripping noise and woke up. I thought it was part of the dream I was having, you know? But then there was a draft and you don’t have drafts in dreams, do you? So, I woke up and one side of the hangings on my bed had been pulled. I rolled over and I saw him standing over me, like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair. His skin was so pale it almost glowed in that eerie green lighting from the lake,” Weasley explained before getting an elbow in the ribs from Zabini. “What? It’s true. I hate that green light.”

Zabini sighed, looking like he was refraining from slapping his own hand over his face. 

“We know your dormitories are in the dungeons and under the lake,” Draco said, smirking at Zabini who narrowed his dark eyes. “Plus, it was almost assumed I’d be there, so I was told things that I shouldn’t really know.”

“Of course you were,” Zabini sighed, rolling his own eyes. 

Harry looked mildly confused.

“Anyways,” Weasley said loudly drawing attention back to himself, “Black had this great, long knife. Dunno where he got it, but it was huge and sharp. He looked at me and I looked at him. We had a moment, then I yelled out and he scampered.”

“Scampered?” Harry asked, sounding doubtful.

“He high tailed it out of there quickly. By the time I opened my curtains, he was gone,” Zabini said. “All that was left was a screaming Ronald.”

“I was not screaming,” Weasley grumbled. 

The story was similar to what had occurred the first time. Or at least the tale was similar. Draco didn’t know what happened the first time any better than the second time, as he hadn’t been present either time. 

“It was manly screaming,” Zabini joked, while Weasley elbowed him in the ribs. The two had a shoving match which only ended when Zabini emptied an ink well over Weasley’s head. 

Harry laughed while Draco gaped at the pair. Neither were acting very Slytherin like. 

Zabini vanished the ink off Weasley while he was still sputtering in outraged. Zabini looked thoughtful then turned to Harry, who quickly stopped giggling. 

“Why, though? Why was he in Slytherin?” Zabini asked, looking at Harry. “Isn’t he after you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, shifting on his feet. “That’s what people seem to think, but he only attempted to break into Gryffindor till he was told ‘he’s not in Gryffindor’ and then he tried to break into Slytherin. How’d he get in?”

“He guessed the password,” Zabini drawled. “He had a whole list of passwords written down. He dropped the list near Ronald’s bed.” 

“Weird,” Draco commented, frowning. 

The other three boys all nodded. 

“So, how are you enjoying the security trolls?” Zabini asked. “I heard your original painting has been returned and she insisted on being guarded. The wall was the same, and I honestly hate those puny trolls.”

“They are horrible,” Draco agreed.

* * *

The next morning, with the arriving mail, Hedwig showed up with two letters. Harry grabbed the letters and fed the owl some bacon. 

“Oh,” Harry said staring at the first envelope, which looked to be Muggle.

“Who’s that from?” Draco inquired, knowing Harry’s Muggle relatives wouldn’t write to him. 

“TR,” Harry said, stuffing the letter into his pocket. He turned his attention to the other note and ripped it open. His eyes scanned the note quickly and he sighed. “Hagrid wants to see us. And Hermione. Where is she?”

Harry looked up, handing the note to Draco. Draco read it quickly, noticing Hagrid was very firm in stating they must wait for him in the Entrance Hall. Draco folded the note up and handed it back to Harry.

“I have no idea. I’ve only been seeing her class for awhile,” Draco said, frowning and remembering how tired and haggard Hermione had appeared. “I think her classes must be finally getting to her.”

“How is she getting to all those classes anyways?” Harry asked, shoveling cornflakes into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I mean, she can’t be in two places at once, yet most of her classes happen at the same time? Dude, do you think she’s somehow making multiples of herself?”

Draco stared at Harry as if he had two heads. 

“Can’t wizards do that? Make copies of themselves?”

“No,” Draco said, frowning. “Well, they could make illusions, but they aren’t perfect copies and can’t do anything. They are mostly used for distractions.”

“So, they couldn’t go to class,” Harry said, nodding his head. “So, then, how’s she doing it?”

Draco opened his mouth to say no clue, but then snapped it shut the answer hitting him out of nowhere.

God, he was stupid. 

“What?” Harry asked, knowing Draco had realized something. 

Draco stared at Harry, wondering if he ought to tell him. 

“Are you going to tell me that she’s using something like time travel to get to all her classes?” Harry laughed, rolling his eyes. He then caught the look on Draco’s face. “Wait. You are, aren’t you?”

All laughter exited Harry’s features and he stared at Draco as if he had two heads and had announced he was going to marry a fern. 

“Draco, no.”

“Why not?”

“Why would she…how….there is no way…why? No way. It’s science fiction!”

Draco leaned over and lowered his voice a little. “Wizards can time travel. There’s these things calls Time Turners. They’re really rare and the Ministry controls them rigidly. Think, Harry. Really think.”

“About what?”

“How Hermione is getting to her classes? Why she keeps randomly appearing out of thin air? It makes sense. Time Turners can take you a couple hours backwards. She can do her classes and hours over,” Draco whispered.

He felt like he’d just struck at gold.

Time Turner.

Genius.

“But why would— oh. She wants to know everything about the wizarding world, so she wanted to take all the classes. How did a thirteen-year-old witch convince the Ministry to give her a Time Turner?”

“I doubt she did. I bet…oh! Remember, Flitwick asked to speak to her before school started. If anything, I’m sure Flitwick and Dumbledore got it for her,” Draco realized. “I mean, she is a model student and loves rules. She’d totally follow the rules with a Time Turner.”

Harry nodded. “So, what do we do?”

“Do?”

“Yeah. She’s working herself to death, Draco!” Harry said, speaking louder suddenly. “Even if she’s….adding more hours to her day, I doubt she’s sleeping any more than she usually does. When I do see her, she looks like she got into a fight. I don’t think she’s the type to get into brawls, so clearly she’s not sleeping enough.”

Harry did have a point. Draco sat back and wondered what they could possibly do for their friend. 


	18. Breaking Points

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

At six that evening, Draco and Harry were standing in the Entrance Hall, waiting for Hagrid and Hermione to show up. Hagrid appeared first, coming from the Great Hall. He smiled at the two boys and then worriedly looked around. 

“I haven't seen her since class,” Draco said, answering Hagrid’s unasked question.

“We’ll wait a few,” Hagrid gruffly said, looking worried again. 

“I’m here! I’m here!” Hermione shouted, clattering down the stairs. She had her overstuffed bags with her once more, her hair all over the place and her face looking as if she’d been socked in each eye a few times. “Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time.”

Hagrid made a noise, but opened the front doors and led the trio outside. Draco took one of Hermione’s overstuffed bags from her while Harry grabbed the other. Hermione fussed, but did not make any move to take them back. 

The first thing Draco noticed upon entering the cabin was the hippogriff was still on the bed, but there was also a rather ugly, hairy brown suit hanging from the wardrobe door.

“What is that for?” Harry asked, dumping Hermione’s bag on the floor. 

“Buckbeak’s case, Harry,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “It’s on Friday. Oh! I’ve got a few more cases for you!”

Hermione grabbed the bag from Draco and began to dig inside. 

“Sorry we didn’t help much,” Harry said, frowning. 

“Yes, I apologize.”

Draco felt a small pang of guilt in his stomach as he watched Hermione pull out a huge bunch of parchment and hand it to Hagrid. 

“Oh, don’t yeh two worry,” Hagrid assured them, staring at the pile with a frown. “I think I got plenty to see me through.” 

“I can do more. I’ve got till Friday,” Hermione said, looking like she was about to fall over. 

Draco pushed her into a chair.

“Yeh done enough,” Hagrid assured, looking as if he didn’t know what to do with what she had handed him. “Now, Hermione, I think I speak for all of us when I say, I’m worried about yeh.” 

“What?” Hermione asked, looking between all three of them. 

“Aren’t yeh boys?” Hagrid asked, looking to Draco and Harry.

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “You look like as if you have been brawling.”

“Yeah, Hermione. You don’t look like you’ve slept in weeks. When was the last time you ate?” Harry asked. He sat down on her other side and looked at her with a fierce expression. “You’re working yourself to death.”

“Prosperous,” she huffed, twisting away from Harry. 

“I think you bit off too much, Hermione,” Hagrid said, sitting down across from her. “Gawd knows you are the smartest witch in ages, but I gotta tell yeh, you oughtta enjoy yourself.”

“We haven’t seen you in ages, Hermione,” Draco added softly. 

“I’ll make more time,” Hermione announced. 

Hagrid laughed and said, “You can’t make time, Hermione.”

Draco and Harry exchanged looks, knowing she might just make more time— pushing herself farther and farther into exhaustion. 

* * *

They spent another hour with Hagrid before Hermione insisted she had to go. Hagrid walked them back to the castle. Draco kept a grip on Hermione’s bag, Harry on the other. With a quick glance, Draco knew he and Harry were on the same wavelength.

“I need my bags,” Hermione insisted, looking at her wristwatch. “I’ve got a lot of revising and homework.”

“No.”

Hermione looked up sharply, realizing they were holding her bags hostage. 

“We know,” Harry said, tightening his hold on the bag. 

Hermione laughed. “Know what?”

“You’re a time traveller,” Harry said, keeping his voice quiet and low since they were still standing in the Entrance Hall. 

Hermione let out a dervish laugh. “Oh, you’re so funny, Harry.”

Harry looked at Draco, who nodded. Together, they grabbed Hermione by the arms and dragged her off to a nearby classroom. She attempted to fight them off, but it was clear she was much too exhausted to do so even if she really wanted to shake them off. Draco warded the room before he turned to face Hermione, who was wringing her hands together, clearly known they’d figured something out. 

“So?” she asked, looking around and never at Harry and Draco.

“So, you got a Time Turner, huh?” Draco asked. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s how you’re doing the hours over again,” Harry said. “You’ve been adding more hours to the day in order to fit all the classes in. That’s like adding on seven hours to a usual day, if not more.”

“I think she likely adds on more,” Draco said, eyeing the girl in front of him. 

“It’s not healthy! You need to eat and sleep, Hermione,” Harry pointed out. 

Hermione appeared as if she was going to argue with her two friends, but instead she collapsed into a chair near by. She let out a deep sigh and buried her face in her hands. Draco moved forward and put a hand on her back. He knelt down next to her and said, “You need to drop something. Divination?”

“It’s useless,” Harry offered. 

“And maybe Muggle Studies?”

“No! I can’t drop anything! I have to do this!” Hermione insisted, her face flying out of her hands. “I just need to give myself more time to eat and sleep. That’s all. Another hour or two.”

She jumped out of the chair. Before Harry and Draco could stop her, she grabbed her bags and was out the door. By the time Harry and Draco got into the hallway, she was gone. 

“Now what?”

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted. “I guess we wait for her to crack?”

“What? No!”

“What else can we do?”

“You mustn’t tell!”

Draco and Harry both startled to find Hermione in front of them again, looking a little better than she had when they’d last seen her seconds before. 

“What?” she asked.

“You look better,” Draco admitted.

“Oh, I took a nap,” Hermione said, flapping her hands. “You two were right. Anyways, I promised Flitwick I wouldn’t tell anyone how I was doing the hours over. So you mustn’t tell.”

“Okay.”

She smiled. “Now, I must do my homework. I promise I’ll make it to more meals. You two are right. And, if Hagrid fails to get Buckbeak off, you’re going to have to do the appeal, as I do not have time if I am going to be eating and sleeping.”

She nodded her head and turned around, leaving the two boys slightly befuddled. 

* * *

That weekend was another Hogsmeade weekend. Draco dragged Hermione with him, insisting she needed to get out and away from the castle. She agreed (somewhat reluctantly). It was warm and sunny, so the pair enjoyed the village and shops. They ran into no trouble during their entire trip and were both laughing as they entered the Entrance Hall, only to stop laughing when greeted with the sight of Nott shouting at Snape while pointing at Harry, who looked as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. 

“I SWEAR HE DID IT!”

“Calm down, Mr Nott,” Snape said evenly. “I have no doubt Potter did something, yet it remains to be seen how he was able to do what he did.”

“I was in the Common Room,” Harry insisted for what sounded like the umpteenth time.

Snape clearly did not believe Harry. 

“HE WAS THERE! I SAW HIM!”

Snape ignored Nott and eyed Harry before reaching forward and snatching something that was poking out of Harry’s pocket. The color in Harry’s face drained. 

“Oh no,” Hermione gasped, grabbing onto Draco’s arm. “That’s not…”

Snape unfurled the piece of parchment and glared at it before asking, “What is this, Potter?”

“Spare bit of parchment,” Harry automatically answered.

“Oh? Really?” Snape sneered. 

“It is. Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?”

Hermione groaned as Snape glared daggers at Harry. He roughly grabbed Harry’s upper arm and hauled him up the stairs, speaking in a low tone that Draco couldn’t overhear. 

Nott looked very gleeful. He smiled and hurried back towards the Slytherin dungeons without a backwards glance.

“What do you think Nott accused Harry of doing?” Hermione asked.

“No clue. More than likely something he made up?” Draco asked. “I’m pretty sure Nott was in Hogsmeade with us most of the day.” 

Hermione sighed and followed Draco to the Great Hall for dinner. They ate together, sans Harry. After they were done, Hermione headed to the library while Draco headed for the Gryffindor Tower. He edged around the trolls (who both leered at him) and gave the password. 

“Oh good. You’re here. He’s in a right fit,” the Fat Lady said, making Draco frown. 

He entered the Common Room, glancing around. 

“He’s upstairs,” Big Head Boy volunteered from his seat at a table near the entrance. He was surrounded by books. “Stomped the whole way up there and slammed the door.”

“Uh, thank you,” Draco said, hurrying up the stairs. He carefully opened the dormitory door and was greeted by feathers. 

Lots and lots of feathers.

And an irate Harry Potter.

“Who does he think he is?!” Harry shouted, another pillow exploding, sending more feathers into the air. “He walks around thinking he’s MR BIG SHOT and makes things up and why does Snape believe it? How the hell would I have been in Hogsmeade this afternoon? I was with Professor Lupin all afternoon! And where does he get off not letting me have my parchment! HE TOOK THE MAP!”

“Harry, calm down,” Draco urged, putting his hands out in front of him, yet not moving further into the feather storm. 

“LUPIN TOOK THE MAP!”

Draco’s hands fell to his sides. “Excuse me?”

“PROFESSOR LUPIN TOOK THE MAP AND YELLED AT ME! HE YELLED AT ME FOR RISKING MY LIFE FOR A BIT OF FUN!” Harry wailed, collapsing backwards suddenly. 

The feathers all fell to the ground, settling all around the room. Draco picked his way across the mess towards Harry. 

“What happened?”

“Well, Nott told Snape I threw mud at him in Hogsmeade. As you know, I was not in Hogsmeade. I don’t know who Nott wound up with a face full of mud, but it wasn’t me. I spent most of the afternoon with Lupin, just…well, talking about Dark Creatures and doing a bit of dementor lessons. So, then, after going at the dementor a little while, I took my chocolate and went up to that room with all the joke stuff in it and lost track of time. It wasn’t until I checked the map to make sure no one was around did I notice you and Hermione enter the grounds. So, I decided I’d meet you and have dinner.”

Draco could figure out what had happened after this, but Harry told him anyway.

“But, of course, I ran into Snape and Nott, who began to accuse me of things I could not have been doing,” Harry went on, waving his hands above his head and sending feathers flying around his head. “I’m not even sure if Nott even had a face full of mud, as he looked pretty clean when I last saw him! Oh, and just when it couldn’t get any worse, Snape found the parchment the map’s on. Luckily, I wiped it before leaving the joke room.”

“Uh, yeah,” Draco agreed, sitting down next to Harry. “So, how’d Lupin get the map?”

“Well, Snape dragged me to his office to yell at me for being where I wasn’t and mud slinging.” Harry laughed bitterly. “I wonder if he knows..never mind. Snape decided the parchment looked suspicious. It was like he’d seen it before. He demanded it tell it its secrets…”

Harry dissolved into giggles all of a sudden, drawing his knees up to his chest and rolling around on the ground.

Harry Potter was seriously unhinged. More so than usual. The fact he had feathers stuck in his hair, on his face and on his clothing didn’t help any. 

“It was hilarious!”

More rolling back and forth in a pile of feathers. 

“What? What happened?” Draco demanded. 

“It insulted him! With the best insults of all time!” Harry laughed, pushing himself into a seated position. He wiped the moisture from his eyes, shaking his head and sending feathers everywhere. “Anyways, after the parchment had rightly told him the truth about his nose and snarked about him being a professor, Snape decided the object was Dark, so he called in Lupin, as that is Lupin’s area. All things Dark and evil.”

Suddenly, Harry’s good humor took flight. 

“What? Harry, tell me.”

“I think Lupin’s seen the parchment before. More so than Snape. Snape looked like he thought he might have seen it. Lupin had seen it before and knew it was a map,” Harry said, all serious and frowning. “He scolded me for not turning the map into Filch, who he knew had confiscated it years ago. He said he’d known the map makers and they’d want to lure me out for a laugh. I’m pretty sure he thought Black gave it to me. I tried to assure him Black didn’t, but that seemed to make him angrier. I’m not sure why.”

Draco shrugged. “Did he give you detention or anything?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Just a guilt trip.”

Harry became quiet, studying his hands in his lap. 

“Well…”

“He was right. I risk my life all the time,” Harry quietly said. “I don’t mean to. It just happens. And I didn’t use the map for anything that put me in danger. We just explored the castle. I haven’t been out of bed after curfew all year!”

Draco studied the guilt ridden Harry and sighed. “I know. I might give you a hard time about your knack for finding trouble, but I know if you could avoid it, you’d have the most boring life in the whole world.”

“I would.”

“I know.”

The boys sat in silence till Draco suggested Harry clean up the feather mess before the other boys wanted to go to bed. 

* * *

Hermione found the two boys the next morning and showed them a note she’d gotten from Hagrid. 

“He’ll be back tonight,” she said quietly, sitting down across from the two. “I’d forgotten the trial was on Friday.”

“He lost,” Harry gasped.

“That was expected. There is still the appeal,” Draco reminded Harry. “And we’ll do it. I can…I’ll do the research.”

“I’ll help,” Harry agreed. 

“Thanks,” Hermione said, smiling a little. “It’s just horrid what Nott’s doing. Buckbeak is innocent. He reacted with instinct. Nott wouldn’t have been hurt if he had been paying attention.”

Hermione shook her head and began to fill her plate with food. 

* * *

The next day, Draco was sitting in Arithmancy when Hermione showed up, looking dazed. She sat down in front of Draco and turned around. 

“Hermione?” Draco asked. 

“Do you know what I just did?”

“No.”

“Stormed out of Divination. I think I just dropped a class,” she breathed, looking completely shell shocked. “I just walked out of a class before it was over.”

“Sorry?” Draco asked, feeling confused. 

“Wait, is this the right class? I think I did this one already…”

“Er…” Draco trailed off as Hermione searched her notes.

“Oh, no! I forgot to come to this class earlier!” Hermione hissed, looking terrified. She let her head fall onto her bag as Zabini entered and slid into the seat next to Draco. He glanced at Draco, clearly asking what was wrong with Hermione. Draco shrugged. 

“Well, you’re here now,” Draco offered. “And the Easter holidays are coming up soon. A bit of a…break.”

Hermione moaned, but sat up and turned around.

“How did I do two hours?” she asked faintly.

Zabini eyed Draco for a moment, before pulling his parchment out to take notes. Draco worried his bottom lip, wondering the same thing. 

* * *

The Easter holidays were anything but a holiday. The entire year had so much homework, Draco was sure the professors had death wishes for them all. 

“At least there’s no need to time travel this week,” Harry offered in a whisper as he, Hermione and Draco sat in the library on afternoon during break. 

Hermione made a noise, but didn’t form words or a sound that made sense to either boy. 

Harry and Draco exchanged looks. 

Hermione seemed to live in the library. She was there first thing in the morning and the last to leave when the librarian kicked her out at night. She wouldn’t have eaten if Draco and Harry hadn’t been diligent in bringing her food. Draco secretly believed she was using the Time Turner to give herself more time for all the loads of homework she had over break. 

“HARRY!”

“MR WOOD THIS IS A LIBRARY!”

“Sorry…”

Wood appeared suddenly, grabbed Harry by the collar and varnished. 

“How does he do that?” Draco whispered.

“No clue. Quiet. Working,” Hermione said robotically. 

Draco sighed and pouted. 

While Hermione did homework, Draco was usually poring over the cases for hippogriffs heard before the committee and working out a defense for Hagrid. The appeal was a few months away, but Draco knew once school started again, he’d not have much time between rounds of homework to do anything. Unlike Hermione, Draco failed to have a Time Turner. 

As the holidays ended and classes began again, Draco patted himself on the back for being right. Homework took over his life. Draco wasn’t sure how Harry managed to fit in all his homework around Quidditch practice. Wood had upped the practices to daily. He tended to trail after his teammates discussing tactics constantly and when not doing that he was kidnapping his teammates in the middle of other activities. Draco lost track of the time he nabbed Harry by the collar and vanished. The final match of the season was to be between Slytherin and Gryffindor, so of course tensions were high in the week leading up to the match. Slytherin led the tournament by exactly two hundred points. 

“We need to win by more than two hundred to win the Cup,” was Oliver Wood’s favorite thing to say. To anyone. He even shouted it a few times at Slytherins instead of exchanging insults. Least to say, it usually threw the Slytherins off a bit. It also landed him in detention a few times when he gave it as an answer during classes. 

Harry sunk deep within to himself, as the pressure to win was solely on his thin shoulders, as Wood was apt to remind him. A million times a day. 

“You must only catch the snitch when we’re up by more than fifty. We need to win by more—”

“I KNOW OLIVER!”

The week leading up to the match proceeded just as Draco remembered it: highly charged and violent. Tensions between the two houses were at a breaking point. Small scuffles broke out in the corridors between classes. Quite a few ended up in the hospital wing, either with broken noses, scrapes or once feathers. 

Draco had taken to jinxing Slytherins, who like last time were constantly trying to trip Harry. By the end of the week, Wood had instructed a whole heard of Gryffindors to protect Harry, leaving Draco usually standing outside the group trying to save Harry’s legs. 

“I cannot wait for this stupid thing to be over,” Draco grumbled on Friday afternoon, folding his arms across his chest. 

“I know what you mean,” Atlanta said, falling into the chair next to him in the Common Room with unreal grace. “I don’t understand Quidditch. Never did.”

“You hate flying,” Draco reminded her.

“I know. I like having both feet on the ground,” she replied, planting her feet solidly on the ground. “So, who do you think will win? I hate to admit it, but I am somewhat conflicted.”

“You were a Slytherin for less than a year,” Draco reminded her.

“No, I made it through my exams. So, I was there for a full school year. Techically.”

“You weren’t you.”

“I was Calliope, yes, but I am still Calliope in some sense,” Atlanta reminded him. “I am both Atlanta and Calliope. Thus, I am both a Gryffindor and a Slytherin.”

“That’s an oxymoron,” Draco scoffed, only realizing after he said it, he’d been a Slytherin longer than he’d been a Gryffindor.

“Oh? Is it?” Atlanta asked, smirking at him. 

“Oh, shut up,” Draco grumbled, folding his arms tighter across his chest while Atlanta laughed at him. 

* * *

The game was dirty.

It went the same way as it had before.

Gryffindor won.

Wood sobbed huge tears of joy while clutching the Cup to his chest.

McGonagall smugly grinned at Snape, who glowered back at her.

Draco, meanwhile, flopped backwards in the empty stands feeling thankful the season was over. This last week had been rather stressful. He pushed himself up and headed down to join the rest of his housemates in their celebration. 


	19. Punch Heard 'Round the World

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

While Harry floated around on a cloud of euphoria after winning the Quidditch Cup for a third year in a row, Draco noticed as June approached Hermione became more and more unhinged. Even after finding about the Time Turner and doing what they could, neither Draco nor Harry were able to get her to drop any more subjects after she stormed out of Divination for unknown reasons. (Rumor was she had been greatly insulted when Trelawney told her for the millionth time she had no talent for Seeing.) While the weather was superb, Hermione refused to venture outside insisting she must study for her exams. 

Her exam table was a nightmare. 

“How are you going to be alive at the end of this?” Harry wondered when he’d spotted the schedule she’d drawn up for herself. “You’ve got four exams in one day and they are almost all at the same time!”

“It’ll be fine,” Hermione insisted, her hair bushier than ever. She had been getting a little more sleep since the boys had discovered her secret, as the dark circles under her eyes no longer made it appear as if she’d gotten into a fight. They were still bruised looking, but now she simply looked tired. It was also clear she’d given up on caring for her hair by its state of bushiness. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Draco commented. 

“Have you seen my _Numerology and Grammatica_?” Hermione asked, looking around the table they were seated at in the library. The table was filled with heaps of parchment and other books— all belonging to Hermione. 

“Oh, yeah, I borrowed it for a bit of bedtime reading,” Harry drawled. 

Hermione paused, blinking at Harry. “You did just say that, right?”

“Er, yes. Sorry.”

She looked at Draco and then back at Harry. 

“I know. He’s turning into me. I’ll try harder to not be myself,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. 

“Huh?” Harry asked. 

Hermione began to laugh, sounding somewhat crazed. Her head hit the table with a thunk and she went on laughing till Hedwig landed in her hair.

“Is there a bird in my hair?” her muffled voice asked.

“Yes, darling. There is,” Draco chuckled. “Clearly it thought your hair was a nest. Maybe you ought…”

“To brush it,” Harry finished. “Hedwig, why did you land on Hermione’s head?”

The bird did not answer, simply dropped the note in her beak, which landed in Hermione’s hair, and took off. Reaching across, Harry plucked the note out of Hermione’s hair. Hermione sat up, smashing her hair down. She looked rather alarmed at how large her hair had gotten. 

“When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, still patting her hair. 

“I figured you had other things on your mind,” Draco admitted. 

“Or it was the weather,” Harry absently said, reading the note. Hermione frowned while Draco gave Harry a confused look. 

“The weather?” Draco asked.

“It’s been humid. It’s from Hagrid. Buckbeak’s appeal— it’s set for the sixth.”

“That’s the day we finish our exams,” Hermione said, still trying to tame her hair. Draco transformed a quill into a brush and handed it to her. She smiled her thanks and began to brush the tangles out of her hair. “Can you look for my book?”

Draco began to search through the mess.

“They’re coming here,” Harry whispered, looking alarmed. “Someone from the Ministry of Magic and the executioner.”

“They’re bringing the executioner to the appeal?” she shirked. “That sounds as if they’ve already made up their minds!”

“Sure does,” Harry grumbled, folding the note up. 

“Well, we’ll figure something out,” Draco muttered. “I’ll write Hagrid’s damn speech if I have to. Ah, here.”

Draco handed the book to Hermione, who in turn handed him the brush, which was filled with hair. After exchanging looks with Harry, Draco quietly Vanished the brush figuring he’d just steal a pen from Harry to finish his homework. 

* * *

Exam week began and an unnatural hush fell over the castle. Draco sat through his exam that first morning feeling a strange combination of exhilarated by how much he remembered from the first time around and freaked out by the fact he still had issues turning his teapot into a tortoise.

“It still had the china pattern on it,” Draco groused after the exam. 

“Well, mine had a handle and was breathing steam. I’m pretty sure if I picked it up and poured it out, tea would’ve come out,” Harry grumped to Draco. “I doubt that was right.”

Draco silently agreed. 

After a hasty lunch, it was time for Charms. Draco got hit with a rather overdone Cheering Charm by Harry, which left Draco rolling around on the ground in fits of hysterical laughter. He had to be taken from the room till the charm wore off. It was rather embarrassing. 

Draco got Harry back later that evening by making his hair stand on end. No matter how hard Harry tried, his hair refused to lay on his head in any semblance of a style. Just straight up and defying gravity. 

Draco and Harry parted ways the next morning. They met back up at lunch and Harry said, “Hagrid’s right depressed. All we had to do was stare at flobberworms to pass the exam. I think he’s getting nervous and it’s effecting Buckbeak. Did you write the speech?”

“I did. I gave it to Hermione after our exam this morning. She’ll give it Hagrid when she sees him later.”

After an afternoon of making Confusing Concoction, the boys studied a little for Astronomy, as that exam always took place at midnight. Draco hated that exam as it cut into prime sleeping time. History of Magic was a waste of time, as usual, so it didn’t matter Draco was working on little sleep to take it. After a quick lunch, he sat the Herbology exam under the baking hot sun. He was the only one without a sunburnt neck by the end of the hour because he remembered to put on lotion that prevented sunburn. 

“What do you think Lupin will do for his exam?” Harry asked the next morning. “So far I don’t think we’ve sat an actual exam for Defense, have we?”

“I think we did first year,” Draco said. “I don’t remember. I’m sure it’ll be good.”

Of course, Draco was right. The obstacle course was exactly as Draco remembered it. The worst part was the boggart at the end, which morphed into a terrifying image of Voldemort who mocked him and threatened his mother. 

At least no one was around to see Draco almost wet his pants. 

It took him a moment to get a grip on himself before he could deal with the boggart, but in the end he did deal with it. Draco stumbled out at the end, ashen faced and blinking. 

“Excellent, Draco,” Lupin muttered, eyeing Draco. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Draco’s voice coming out a bit high. He stood up straight and brushed his robes. “Fine. Fine. Fine.”

His voice rose and broke with each word he uttered.

“If you say it four times, must be true,” Lupin offered. 

Draco hurried off to wait for Harry. He didn’t have long to wait before Harry exited grinning up a storm and Lupin informed him of his marks for the exam and praised him for a job well done. Harry joined Draco and they headed into the Entrance Hall. They were discussing the exam when Harry ran into someone. 

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, backing up from the person he’d run into.

“Hello there, Harry!” boomed the person who’d Harry collided with. “Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?”

Draco finally took a look at the person to find that Harry had run into no other than Cornelius Fudge.

“Yes,” Harry said.

“Lovely day,” Fudge went on, glancing at Draco and looking as if he ought to know him yet couldn’t place him. “Pity…pity…”

He sighed deeply and gazed down at Harry. Harry blinked.

“I’m here on an unpleasant mission, Harry. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in.”

“Does that mean the appeal’s already happened?” Draco pointedly asked.

Fudge startled a bit. “No. It’s scheduled for this afternoon.”

“Then you might not need to witness,” Harry pointed out.

Fudge was about to point out that Harry was an idiot and childish, but it was oh so adorable, when the doors to the entrance hall flew open and two other men entered. 

“Is that who I think it is?” Harry whispered while Fudge as Fudge turned to see who had entered.

Draco nodded solemnly. The old guy was the committee head and the other guy was a “friend” of his father’s and Death Eater. He liked to chop off heads. 

Draco tugged on Harry’s sleeve and the pair slunk off while Fudge was distracted. 

“It’s not looking good, is it?”

“We knew those two were coming,” Draco pointed out. “Now, if Mr Nott showed up, then I’d be worried. But, still. No matter the outcome, let’s sneak down to see Hagrid tonight, okay?”

Harry blinked at Draco.

Draco blinked at Harry.

“Did you just suggest we sneak out? And go where we ought not to be?”

“I did.” 

Draco frowned a little as Harry continued to stare at him as if he’d lost his mind. 

“We should,” he insisted to the green eyed boy. “We both know, even if Hagrid does manage to read what I wrote for him, that hippogriff is done for. Prejudice.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He began to shake his head.

“No, Draco. It’s something else.”

“What, then? What?”

Draco was honestly confused. 

“I was just about to suggest we go down to see Hagrid,” Harry said. “And then you went and suggested it. It’s just…you usually don’t want to sneak around. Or go where we mustn’t. It’s…strange.”

“Well, I want to see Hagrid,” Draco insisted. He paused for a moment, suddenly aware of what he’d just said and how true it happened to be. He blinked. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. As do you. See you after you defog your exam. I doubt you’ve Seen your results.”

Draco ran away before Harry could reply or he could think any further on the topic. 

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair for Draco and Harry. Harry seemed to be withholding something from Draco with no plans on sharing in the near future. Due to the butterflies living in Draco’s stomach, he allowed Harry to keep his secret for the time being. As soon as Harry threw his fork down with a clatter, Hermione appeared behind the boys, seemingly knowing what they were planning. 

“I’m coming with you,” she stated flatly, turning on her heel and stomping out of the Great Hall. 

Draco and Harry looked at each other, then followed. 

“I’m going to go get the Cloak,” Harry muttered, eyeing Nott and his two minions who were lurking in the shadows of the Entrance Hall with looks of glee on their faces. 

“How much do you want to bet they’re going to sneak down to watch?” Draco whispered, glaring.

Hermione ground her teeth together loudly. 

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Hermione snapped. “Fine. Fine. Fine.”

“Well, if you say it four times…”

The two wandered down the hallway leading to the Hospital Wing. Once they were out of sight of Nott, they waited till the noise of dinner died off as people headed back to their Common Rooms for the evening. 

“Let’s see if he’s gone and Harry’s made it back with the Cloak,” Draco suggested. 

The two quietly crept down the hallway back towards the Entrance Hall. Hermione grabbed Draco’s robe, halting his progress.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I swore I heard…oh, never mind. Are Nott and Company gone?”

Draco peaked around the corner to find the Entrance Hall very empty.

“Yes.”

“Boo.”

Hermione threw her hand over her mouth before she could scream.

“Harry,” Draco groaned.

Harry’s face appeared from under the hood, grinning. “Let’s go.”

Making sure once more no one was around, Draco and Hermione joined Harry under the Cloak and they quietly made their way to the door. Easing the door open quietly, they slipped out and made their way down the stone stairs and across the grounds in the sinking sun. They were almost to the cabin when they heard whispering.

“Stop,” Hermione ordered, a tightness in her tone that had been all day. 

Draco glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She appeared very stressed out, even though exams were finished and she’d managed to sit all except for the one class she’d dropped. If anything, she ought to be dancing for joy. Instead, she looked as if she wanted to hit something. She slipped out of the Cloak and snuck up on Nott. 

“Should we stop her? She might do something dumb?” Harry asked, sounding a little worried. 

Draco shook his head as Hermione neared Nott. 

“Excuse me.”

Nott almost screamed, but managed not to issue any noise. Crabbe and Goyle both blundered off to the side, tripping over their too large feet. They landed in the brush with a loud crash. 

“What are you doing here, Mudblood?” Nott sneered. “Out to see your oaf of a friend cry for his stupid bird?”

Hermione bristled with outrage, sparks jumping through her hair suddenly. Before Draco could move to stop her, she whipped out her wand and pointed it right at Nott’s nose. Like Draco before him, any bravo Nott had had died when that weapon was pointed at his face.

“You foul, loathsome, miscreant, rat-faced toad!” Hermione shouted. 

“Not worth it, not worth it,” Draco muttered, no matter how much he would like to see her curse Nott.

Hermione decided something similar, as she lowered her wand. 

Then she hauled off and punched him in the jaw.

“Did she just do what I think she did?”

“I think so.”

Harry removed the Cloak and joined Hermione as she glared at Nott, who was holding his jaw and looking as if he had no idea what had just occurred.

“You’ll pay for that Mudblood!” he shouted.

“Oh? Who will make her pay? Your puny self?” Draco asked, folding the Cloak and holding it behind his back. 

Nott looked more alarmed at the appearance of Harry and Draco. 

“I think you could use some antlers,” Draco said, waving his wand in front of him with his free hand. “And don’t think I’m as controlled as Hermione here. So, antlers?” 

Nott scrambled to his feet and scampered off, with Goyle and Crabbe blundering behind him. 

“That felt good,” Hermione admitted, staring at her fist. 

“Had a bit of stress?” Harry causally asked. 

Hermione snorted. She flexed her fingers a few times, frowning a little. Draco tapped his wand against her hand, silently sending a healing charm to ease the damage she’d done when she punched Nott. 

She did, though, appear to have lost the tightness in her body she’d been carrying around earlier. 

“Thanks. Let’s go.”

“Cloak back on, then?” Harry asked. “And that was so cool. If Draco or I had punched him, he’d have told! But he won’t ever admit you punched him!”

Hermione nodded absently. “I snapped, just now, didn’t I? I feel like I ought to feel worse, not better. I punched someone!”

“True, but you didn’t curse him,” Draco pointed out. “Let’s go.” 

The Cloak was thrown back on and the trio made their way to Hagrid’s front door. They knocked and waited for him to answer. The door flew open and Hagrid looked around, pale-faced and trembling. 

“It’s us,” Harry hissed. “We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can talk.”

“Yeh, shouldn’t have come,” Hagrid whispered, but stood back and allowed them to enter.

Draco was surprised to find Hagrid wasn’t crying. Nor did he throw himself at them once Harry removed the Cloak. He simply appeared helpless. This was somehow worse than tears and hysterics. 

“Wan’ some tea?” Hagrid asked, his hands shaking up a storm as he attempted to deal with the kettle. Draco snatched it from him before he had a chance to break it. 

“Where’s Buckbeak?” Hermione asked, glancing around. 

“Outside in the pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an’— an’ smell the fresh air…”

“That’s nice. Here sit,” Hermione urged, holding out a chair.

Hagrid collapsed into the chair. Draco put the kettle above the fire after filing it with water and turned to find the rest of the tea making supplies. He grabbed the jars with the tea and sugar, then went for the milk jug. He set them on the counter and began to look for the mugs. Hermione and Harry both asked Hagrid how the appeal had gone, which broke the damn that had held the tears back. They had all assumed the worst when none of them had heard from Hagrid after their final exam. 

Tragically, they were correct.

Draco pulled the lid off the sugar and stared for a long moment before slamming the lid back on.

“Draco?”

“Rat. In the sugar,” Draco announced as the sugar jar attempted to move under his hands. “Rat. The rat. Rat.”

“Yeh afraid of rats, Draco?” Hagrid asked, moping his face with a huge flannel. Draco’s odd behavior seemed to snap the larger man out of his doldrums. “They’re harmless, rats are.”

“Rat. In the sugar,” Draco went on, trying to get Harry and Hermione to understand what he was saying. 

“Oh!” Hermione breathed, jumping to her feet.

“They’re coming,” Harry stated flatly, not paying attention. He was too busy glaring at whoever was heading towards the cabin. 

“RAT!” Draco shouted trying to get Harry’s attention. 

“Incapacitate him!” Hermione shouted, panic in her voice. “We must go!”

“What?” Hagrid and Harry asked.

“It’s just a rat. Just let him out,”  Hagrid said, clearly confused.

“Rat?” Harry asked, green eyes going bright.

“The rat. In the sugar jug,” Draco repeated. It was all he seemed to be able to say. “The rat!”

“Paramount!” Harry suddenly shouted, tripping over his feet to cross the room in his haste.

“Right. Okay,” Hermione said. She marched over to Draco and met his eyes. “Open the jug. I’ll grab it. Then, you freeze it. Stun it. Or something.”

Draco nodded, moving his arm a bit to move his wand down his arm to his hand. 

“What—” Hagrid started, but never finished as Draco yanked the lid off and Hermione grabbed the rat before he could escape. He struggled as she held him by the tail out in front of her. Draco quickly Petrified the rat and he stopped moving. Sighing, Draco suddenly felt a thousand times better till Hagrid said, “Yeh gotta go. They mustn’t find yeh here…go now! Take that rat and go! Out the back!”

Hagrid barely got the back door open before someone was knocking on the other door. 


	20. The Shack that Ghosts Built

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Draco knew what was coming before he’d really had time to realize he knew what was coming. Time played out a certain way. Time was going to grab him by the hair and drag him where ever she wished. 

And she wanted him here, standing on a hill overlooking Hagrid’s cabin moments before Buckbeak got his head chopped off. Time wanted him right here, right now and wanted him to have the rat in his pocket as a huge, black dog was slinking across the lawn towards them. 

Summer was when all things climatic happened to Harry Potter.

It was currently summer. 

Draco had the stunned rat. All he had to do was get to Dumbledore. Or McGonagall. Or someone that was not that idiot Fudge. 

But, no. That wasn’t going to happen now was it. 

Sirius Black was stalking towards them.

Padfoot. Dog. Grim. Sirius.

Made total sense. 

Draco heard the ring of an ax falling. Harry jerked at the same time the Invisibility Cloak fell away and Sirius stopped his stalking for a breath. 

“How could they?” Hermione gasped, clinging to Draco, not noticing the fact the Invisibility Cloak was on the ground behind them now.   

“What the—” Harry began, having noticed the fact they were exposed. He spun around. “YOU!”

Harry pointed at a vividly orange cat who had the Invisibility Cloak in his jaw. 

“That damn cat,” Draco muttered turning to the cat. “I’ve got him! I’m not going to give him to Weasley! I know it’s not a rat!” 

Crookshanks pranced off, taking the Cloak with him. 

The massive dog was still standing stock still. Harry, not noticing the lurking dog, made to grab up the Cloak from the retreating cat. Draco made a split second decision. It was a very Gryffindor choice, but he was a Gryffindor. 

It was time to be reckless. 

Shaking Hermione off, Draco took off for the Whomping Willow. Later Draco would wonder why he pelted off in that direction but at the time it seemed like a good idea. The moment he spun away from Hermione, the cat began hissing, Harry grabbed up the Cloak, and the dog charged. The dog ran fast, his light grey eyes flashing in the dark. Harry took off after Draco, shouting, failing to notice the dog till he was tackled to the ground. A dull thud sounded behind Draco, who glanced over his shoulder. 

The dog rolled off of Harry, landing a little off balance. Draco stopped running. The dog quickly regained its balance and charged up to Draco, coming to a halt two feet away. The dog growled at Draco, low and menacing. 

Draco took a step back, mentally chiding himself for acting like such a Gryffindor. His Slytherin side wanted him to pull the rat out of his pocket, toss it and run for it to protect his own butt.

WHAM.

And….end scene. 

* * *

“DRACO!” Hermione shirked from somewhere behind Harry as he struggled to his feet. He looked up and noticed that dumb tree that moved on its own wallop Draco. There was a sickening thump and Draco crumbled. Scrambling to find his wand, which had gone flying when the dog tackled him, Harry felt around blindly for a moment.

Hermione attempted to run to Draco, but the tree walloped her soundly in the middle, knocking the air out of her. The tree creaked, whipping back and forth. Using the distraction of the tree, the dog darted forward and clamped Draco’s shoulder in its jaw and dragged him towards the tree.

“NO! Stop!” Harry shouted, his hand finally finding his wand. “ _Lumos!_ ” 

The wand light showed Harry the thick trunk of the tree as it went still. The dog had done something to make the tree stop. Harry went to move forward, but the dog vanished into a hole of some sort and the tree sprung back to life, hitting Harry soundly in the stomach. 

“Ooof.” Harry landed with a thud next to Hermione, who was looking at the tree in a horrified manner.

“Why would they put such a violent tree on these grounds?” she demanded, picking up her wand. “Luckily Draco showed me those healing spells finally. Come here.”

Quickly, she healed them both of the random cuts and bruises. 

“We’ve got to go get him,” Harry announced. “How do we get passed this tree?”

“We need to go for help! Now is not the time to be a hero! A rabid DOG has Draco!”

“I don’t think it’s a rabid dog,” Harry muttered. There was definitely something off about that grey eyed dog.

Dogs did not have grey eyes.

Humans did.

Draco did.

His mother did.

Highly likely Sirius Black did. 

That dog had to be Sirius Black. 

“We need help! We can’t go up against this murderous tree!” Hermione dithered. 

As if the tree heard her, it cracked it branches as if it were preparing for battle. 

“If that dog can get in, we can,” Harry insisted.

Harry tried a few times to get passed the branches, but was unable to get through. He seemed to further agitate the tree. It was moving faster and faster.

“I think it’s smart,” Harry panted.

“Oh, let’s go get help,” Hermione pleaded. “We need help.”

Suddenly, Harry spotted an orange mass move through the grass. Crookshanks. He slithered between the battering, fighting branches without stopping. He looked more like a snake than a cat as he reached the trunk of the tree. His yellow eyes flashed as he hit a knot on the tree and the tree froze. Hermione gasped.

“Crookshanks. How on earth…” Hermione whispered, grabbing Harry’s arm. Painfully hard. 

“He must know the dog,” Harry said. “It makes sense. The cat had it out for the rat, Black wants the rat.” 

“You think the dog is Black?” Hermione asked, her voice raising into an octave that kind of hurt his ears.

Harry nodded. 

“Oh, all right then,” Hermione grumbled. 

Still holding onto his arm tightly, Hermione slowly raised her wand and together they hurried towards the trunk. As they neared the hole, Crookshanks slid in and his bottlebrush tail vanished. Harry pried Hermione’s fingers off and followed. He slid down, head first, and landed on the ground. The tunnel seemed to be made out of dirt, unlike the other tunnels shown on the map Harry had—

The map!

“Hermione!” he gasped, as Hermione landed on top of him, going down feet first instead of head first. Not for the first time, Harry silently thanked Aunt Narcissa for suggested he get his eyes fixed when he was eleven. 

“Sorry!” Hermione shirked in a horrified manner. She rolled off of him. “Where are we?”

“This is marked on the Marauder’s Map! Fred and George told me no could get in because…of that damn tree! I bet they don’t know how to get the tree to stop,” Harry realized. 

A hiss in front of them told them Crookshanks wanted them to follow. Now. 

“Where does this go?”

“Off the map. Hogsmeade more than likely. I think the cat wants us to follow,” Harry offered.

Harry went first, following Crookshank’s tail as it bobbed in and out of view. The tunnel was clearly made for animals, not humans, as Harry had to bend almost over in half in order to walk through the tunnel. The tunnel was long, longer than the one that lead to Honeydukes. 

“Oh, I hope he’s okay. Are you sure the dog’s Black and not rabid? I mean, it might eat him,” Hermione worried from behind Harry.

“He doesn’t want to eat Draco,” Harry offered, as the tunnel finally began to rise a bit. 

Hermione tutted, but refrained from speaking. 

Moments later the tunnel twisted a bit and Harry couldn’t find the cat. Then the tunnel came to an end. Looking up, Harry found an open trap door. Looking over at Hermione, he indicated he was going to climb up. She nodded and together they climbed up the tree roots that seemed to make a ladder to get up into the space above their heads. Harry pulled himself through first, looking around an empty, disordered, dusty room. After making sure no one was around, he turned around and helped Hermione into the room. 

“What is this place?” Harry asked, taking in the peeling wallpaper and stained floors. Lowering his wand a bit, he studied the stains on the worn wood floor. They looked like old blood. Walking slowly around the room, he noticed every single item of furniture was broken. And not like it was smashed in a fit of rage, but smashed by a large animal. Claw marks and teeth indentations marked almost everything. 

“Harry. I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack,” Hermione whispered. Harry turned to find Hermione by one of the boarded up windows, peering through it. “I mean, the window is beyond filthy, but I’m pretty sure that’s where we are.”

“Ghosts did not do this,” Harry plainly stated.

“Seriously?” Draco’s drawl came from upstairs. 

“Well, I am serious,” croaked another voice, one that sounded like it did not get used often.

“No shite, Sherlock!”

“What?”

Harry looked over at Hermione, meeting her eyes. He took a deep breath as Hermione crossed the room silently to stand with Harry. Harry met her eyes, holding up three fingers. She nodded and Harry counted down to three and they both whispered, “ _Nox_.” 

The wands went out, plunging them into darkness. They inched forward quickly as Draco and the unknown person continued talking upstairs. 

“Muggle reference,” Draco drawled, sounding rather flippant. “We have to wait for Harry.”

“You made a Muggle reference? No. I want the rat,” the man croaked.

“I know that. And we both know Harry’s got a saving person complex, so let’s just wait. I’m sure he’s figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“That you’re the dog that took me,” Draco said. “And how to get here.” 

Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm, squeezing it hard before they reached the stairs. Panic was written all over her face. 

“Do you think he’s working with Sirius Black?”

“What?” Harry asked, looking at her in a confused manner. “I thought you believed him?”

“Well, he’s the ONLY person alive who thinks Sirius Black isn’t guilty!” Hermione hissed, not looking like she believed what she was saying. “He’s the one who told you he was framed. Dumbledore thinks he’s a danger. He allowed the Dementors on school grounds.”

“They aren’t on school grounds.”

“You know what I mean.”

Harry glanced at the stairs. From the way the thick layer of dust had been kicked up, the dog had dragged Draco up the stairs. Harry pointed this out to Hermione. Draco had not gone up those stairs willingly, nor did the croaking man carry him up. 

“I’ve waited for almost thirteen years, Malfoy,” the croaking man said. “And I don’t trust you.”

Draco groaned. Hermione looked torn. Harry shook his head as they climbed the remaining stairs. He was going to go up there and figure out if Draco had been delusional all these years or not. Because if Draco was right, Harry had someone out there— someone his parents had meant to care for him. 

“Is your head okay?”

“I think so. I’m not bleeding,” Draco grumbled. 

A long beat of silence that was almost broken when the floor started to creak under Harry’s and Hermione’s combined weight. They stopped walking till the speaking began again.

“How the hell did you know?”

Harry and Hermione stopped outside the room the voices were issuing from. Harry put his fingers to his lips. 

“That you were the dog? Your eyes. I had some clues from…a friend of mine. Oh, and Harry’s got that map you and your friends,” Draco went on. “Well, he had it till Lupin took it. There was someone named Peter Pettigrew in Ronald Weasley’s bed. And Weasley had a rat.”

“Remus took it?”

Harry kicked the door open, holding his wand out, pointing blindly into the room. Hermione followed, also pointing her wand out in front of her. Draco was seated on a magnificent four poster bed with dusty red hangings that looked like it’d seen better days. He was rubbing the back of his head while Crookshanks sat next to him purring like mad. Draco turned to look at Harry, a smirk appearing.

“Fancy seeing you here, Harry.” 

Harry quickly turned, pointing his wand over at Sirius Black, who was leaning against the huge wardrobe that was in the room. He was a mass of filthy, matted hair that hung to his elbows. His eyes, which Harry tried not to look at too much, were sunken into his face, making him look like he had deep dark holes for eyes instead of actual eyes. His skin was waxy and stretched tightly over his finely carved features. Black slowly looked at Harry, not even making an expression as he laid eyes on his godson in human form for the first time in twelve years. 

“He has no wand,” Draco quickly pointed out after realizing that Harry and Hermione were still pointing their wands. Harry was pointing his wand at Black, while Hermione was looking unsure as where to point her own wand— or what to do for that matter now that they were faced with Black. “I’ve got mine.”

Draco waved it. He then tossed it at Hermione, who failed to catch it. 

“I am happy to tell you, I was right all along! He’s after the rat! Oh, and has no knife…or a gun.”

“A what?” Sirius Black asked, still looking at Harry with his creepy, dead eyes.

“Draco, are you sure you’re okay?” Hermione asked. “You seem to be channeling Harry.”

“Hey!” Harry shouted. 

“A Muggle stick they use to kill one another. It’s made out of metal. Shoots little bits of metal,” Draco explained to Black, trying not to sound excited about talking about Muggle things. “It uses explosions and everything. Actually, rather interesting—”

Draco stopped talking as both Harry and Hermione were glaring at him. Draco quickly shut his mouth. Harry frowned and turned to Black. He wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione who was staring at Draco’s wand as if it were an exciting book she’d just discovered. He looked at Black, who was staring at him. Harry cleared his throat.

Best act naturally. 

“So, you knew I’d come. Did you stage this?”

“No,” Black said, pushing himself off the dresser. “I just wanted the rat. I could smell the rat on Malfoy.”

“You could just call me Draco,” Draco muttered. Black sent him a look, then turned back to Harry, seeming to study him all over again. 

“I knew this boy was your friend, so when he knocked himself out and I couldn’t get the rat off him, I took him. I thought you’d come for him.”

* * *

Black sounded more rasping than he had when he’d first started talking to Draco when Draco woke up to find himself in small, dusty bed. What a bed was doing in the Shirking Shack as beyond Draco. Why did a ghost need a bed? 

Not that anyone had heard any ghosts here for years.  

“Your father would have come for me, or any one of us,” Black said quietly. “Brave. Not to run to a teacher, to do it yourself. Very Marauder. I’m grateful. It’ll make everything easier….”

“Oh, you shouldn’t—”

Draco didn’t get to finish before Harry launched himself at Black. His wand clattered to the ground, rolling towards Draco. Hermione reacted fast, though, grabbing the back of Harry’s robes before he could get far, setting him off balance. Harry and Hermione crashed to the ground with a thud that seemed to shake the whole house. Black took a few timid steps towards Harry.

“Are you okay?”

Harry wildly moved his arms around and roared, “HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!” 

He broke free of Hermione and jumped at Black. He looked like some sort of leap frog as he collided with Black. They both fell to the ground with another all mighty thud that kicked up almost all the dust in the room. Hermione began screaming, not sure what to do. Draco stood up, felt dizzy and crashed to the ground. 

“Draco!”

“Get Harry off him! He’s not that strong!”

“Which one?” Hermione shirked.

“BLACK!”

“YOU KILLED MY PARENTS!” Harry shouted, though Draco could suddenly tell Harry’s heart wasn’t actually in this fight.

Why had he picked a fight? Was Time urging him to keep the timeline in tact for some crazy reason? Like when Harry had wanted to follow the spiders last year? Or the thing with the broom and sneaking out tonight? 

“I GOOD AS DID!” Black yelled, who wasn’t even bothering to fight Harry off as Harry’s fists collided with the side of Black’s jaw. Hermione pleaded for Harry to stop, dancing around unsure what to do. Draco’s head hummed in pain. Black made a few odd noises. 

“No, I’ve waited too long,” Black hissed.

Black tried to push Harry off, his skeleton like hands pushing at Harry’s face. Harry didn’t let up. 

“Do something,” Draco hissed.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and rushed over to the pile of filth and Harry and kicked blindly. Harry flew to the side and Black grunted in pain. Harry scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly. He snatched his wand and pointed it at Black, who remained on the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Hermione scurried away, falling to the ground next to Draco. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Harry shouted. There was a soft hissing and Harry sighed. Crookshanks sunk her claws into Black’s chest and refused to let go.

Black sighed. “Get off.”

He tried to push the cat off, but the cat sunk his claws in deeper. Next to Draco, Hermione began to whimper.

“HARRY!” Draco shouted, making his head pound.

“WHAT?”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!”

“He killed thirteen Muggle and Peter Pettigrew in broad daylight!” Harry shouted, glancing over his shoulder at Draco. 

Suddenly, Draco knew what Harry was doing: trying to act like he didn’t think the man on the floor was innocent. He was behaving as he would as if he believed the norm. 

Why? 

Oh, yes. Harry was insane. Why would he do what made sense at a time like this? 

Draco groaned and fell backwards on the bed.  

Black hissed angrily. “I don’t deny it’s my fault they are dead, but I did not kill those Muggles or Pettigrew.”

He spat out the last word with hate Draco could almost feel. 

Pushing himself back onto his elbows, Draco decided to play the Insane Friend who Thought Mass Murder Was Innocent opposite Harry’s Vengeful Son Who Thought the Mass Murder Was a Murder.

“Harry, I told you there was something fishy about the whole Sirius Black thing when we first met. Just give him a chance to explain.” 

“Why? He admitted he killed them! That it is his fault!” Harry cried, looking again over his shoulder at Draco.

Harry appeared to be quite confused.

“What is going on? Harry, why are you suddenly convince he’s guilty?” Hermione asked. Then she gasped and looked at Draco. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you two talking about?” Harry demanded at the same time Black croaked out, “You need the whole story.” 

Harry whirled around to face Black again. 

“I know the whole story! You told Voldemort where they were! You-you-you are the reason I had to live with the Dursleys! If you didn’t sell them out, then why did you go to jail?!”

Harry took several steps forward. Draco’s head swam and things went black for second. Hermione grabbed him, asking, “Where do you think you’re going? Just stay still.”

Draco groaned loudly. Hermione grabbed his hand and hung on for what felt like dear life. Draco groaned again, then they heard something moving downstairs. Hermione jumped a bit. They all stared at the open door and waited. 

Thundering footsteps that made Draco’s head sing in pain came up the stairs. Draco closed his eyes and concentrated on not throwing up, which suddenly seemed like a good idea to ease the pain in his head. The seconds lengthened as who ever it was took stock of the situation. 

“ _Expelliarmus_!” 

Draco cracked his eye open to find Professor Lupin holding three wands, plus his own. Hermione gasped, sounding shocked and outraged to be disarmed. Lupin, still holding the wands, deftly moved across the room towards where Black was crumpled on the ground, the cat still protecting him. Harry stumbled back a few steps, looking somewhat dazed.

“Where is he, Sirius?”

Lupin sounded odd, like he was suppressing a lot more emotion than usual. Black, keeping his face rather expressionless, pointed at Draco. Draco, groaning a bit, shifted away from Hermione and pulled the stunned rat from off the bed where he’d left it. It dangled in front of him. Lupin crossed to where Draco was seated, leaning against the bed. His amber eyes, which looked more yellow than brown tonight, studied the stunned rat.

It was clear the rat had seen better days, but it was the front paw that interested Lupin. 

“But then…” Lupin trailed off, still studying the dangling rat. He straightened up and turned to face Black. “Why was he hiding?” Black made a movement, some sort of facial expression that Lupin seemed to read a lot into. Lupin turned back towards Draco, eyes still only on the rat. They went wide. “Oh…” He gasped. “You switched.”

Lupin whirled around, his robes flying out around him. 

“You didn’t tell anyone,” Lupin realized. “Not even Dumbledore.” 

Very slowly, his sunken eyes never leaving Lupin’s face, Black nodded. 

“Professor, what is going on?” 

Lupin jumped, seemingly forgetting Harry was in the room with him. 

“I…I…”

Lupin was lost for words. He turned back to Black and lowered his own wand, still staring at Black. In a few strides, Lupin crossed to Black and hauled him to his feet. Crookshanks fell to the floor with a loud hiss, darting over to Hermione. 

“So you never?”

“No.”

“Peter?”

“Yes.”

“The street?”

“Peter.”

“So…”

“Yeah. Lanta told me I was an idiot quite often.”

“I bet Tom agreed full heartedly.”

“He did. I’m so sorry.”

Something seemed to crack within Lupin. It was almost visible— something lifted off his shoulders and he embraced Black, throwing both arms around the emancipated man. 

Harry looked gobsmacked, clearly not expecting this reaction even knowing the two were friends. Draco felt like he was missing something, as there was something defiantly going on more than a brotherly hug there.

Who the hell was Tom? (Draco assumed “Lanta” was Atlanta the First.) 

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!”

Lupin leaped a bit, letting go of Black. He turned to face Hermione, still keeping a hand on Black’s arm. Hermione leapt her feet, anger and rage flying off her in leaps and bounds— just as it had been earlier that night. She pointed at Lupin, looking wild and dangerous. It wouldn’t have surprised Draco to see sparks flying out of her fingers. 

“You— you—and him! You’ve been helping him!” She grabbed at her hair. “I didn’t tell anyone! I’ve been COVERING FOR YOU!”

“Hermione, listen—”

“NO!”

“I can explain!”

“NO!”

“He’s helping him?” Harry asked, looking utterly bewildered. “But you said…”

Harry helpless looked at Draco, who suddenly realized why Hermione was so upset. 

He slapped his own forehead. 

“I trusted you!” Hermione shouted as Draco shouted, “He hasn’t been helping Black!”  

Suddenly, they were all shouting at one another. 

“YOU CAN’T TRUST HIM!”

“I can explain!”

“YOU LET HIM INTO THE CASTLE DIDN’T YOU!”

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

“I haven’t been Sirius’s friend for years!”

“The cat helped me!”

“WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP!” Draco shouted, somehow getting his voice to sound above them all. His voice echoed in his own head, causing waves of pain and nausea to roll around.

“He’s a WEREWOLF!” Hermione screeched, shaking in rage and pointing at Professor Lupin. 


	21. A Werewolf at Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Hermione shout caused silence to descend among the males. Everyone turned to look at her. She was shaking in her anger at Professor Lupin. She pointed a shaky finger at him. 

“He’s been helping Black all year get into the castle! He’s been trying to help Black KILL!”

“Not up to your usual standard, Hermione,” Lupin said casually, as if he was in class with her and she’d simply answered a question wrong. “I haven’t been helping Sirius and have no idea how he managed to get the passwords to the dungeon. Nor do I know how he got into the castle at Halloween.”

“The cat,” Black supplied. 

“And I don’t want anyone dead,” Lupin added. 

“I do,” Black grumbled.

An odd shiver passed through Lupin and he suddenly slumped his shoulders. “But I won’t deny it. I am a werewolf.”

Silence rang. 

“Okay, so we’ve established that,” Draco said. “Can we deal with the rat?”

“YOU KNEW?” Hermione shouted, whirling around to face Draco.

Lupin’s head snapped up, looking at Draco with a peculiar expression on his face. Black did as well. 

“Is he really a Malfoy?” Black asked.

“He is,” Lupin said.

“Draco! He’s a werewolf!” Hermione shouted, glaring at him. “AND YOU KNEW THIS AND FAILED TO TELL ME?”

Oops. Left that out of the Things That Happened Third Year.  

“You can’t trust werewolves. They are liars!”

Draco scoffed. “Sure.” 

“When did you figure it out?” Lupin asked, attempting to distract Hermione from her rage at Draco. 

“Ages ago,” Hermione admitted, knotting her hands together, her anger deflating a bit as she looked at Draco leaning against the bed. “Since Professor Snape set that essay.”

“He’ll be delighted,” Lupin faintly admitted. “I’m sure he assigned it hoping someone would realize what my symptoms meant. I’m sure you put all the pieces together.”

Hermione nodded, turning back to Lupin. “I looked at the lunar charts, noticed you were always ill around the full moon and that your boggart changed into the full moon.”

Lupin nodded, forcing a laugh out. “You are the cleverest witch of your age, aren't you?”

Hermione seemed to fight with taking the complement or not. Not won out. “No. If I were clever, I would have told someone you were a werewolf!”

“They know,” Lupin admitted. “At least the staff. And I guess Draco.”

Hermione gasped. “Is Dumbledore mad?”

“No,” Draco said. “He’s not for once.”

“He’s a werewolf, Draco!” Hermione shouted, pulling at her hair. “And you knew! DRACO how could you not think that was important!”

“It slipped my mind,” Draco lied. “The rat! The rat was paramount!”

“What the hell is going on?” Harry asked.

“How could it not be important that Lupin is a werewolf, Draco Malfoy!” Hermione shouted, tugging at her hair.

“Don’t believe everything you hear about werewolves, okay?” Draco tried. 

“You should have told me!”

“Okay, I should have!”

“How did you find out?” Lupin quietly asked, eyeing Draco. “Was it the essay?”

“No, Snape told the Slytherins the night after—”

Draco stopped speaking and slammed his hand over his mouth, which made his head thump and his stomach roll. He slumped down some more, closing his eyes. 

“What’s the matter?” Lupin inquired. 

“I got walloped in the head by a tree,” Draco admitted. “You are all loud and I hate you. Please, let’s get out of here. Take this rat to Dumbledore and be done with this mess.”

“STAY AWAY FROM HIM!” Hermione shouted, as Lupin tried to approach Draco.

“Hermione, he’s not going to harm me.” 

“He’s hurt. He’s right, too. We can tell you the whole story at the school.”  

A loud creak sounded from behind them. They all turned towards the door (well except Draco who refused to move his head any more). Lupin walked over and looked around, but didn’t find anything. 

“NO! We’re going to stay here!” Harry shouted, pointing his wand wildly in various directions. “I want to know. Now.”

“Know what Harry? They are liars!” Hermione asked, her voice going into a register that made Draco’s ears bleed. 

“No one is lying,” Draco grumbled. “Haven’t you been listening to me?”

“YOU NEVER SAID HE WAS A WEREWOLF, DRACO MALFOY!”

“I didn’t think it was my secret to share, really,” Draco admitted, causing Black make a choking noise.

“Are you sure he’s really a Malfoy?”

“There are times I doubted it, but…I know why he is the way he is,” Lupin said faintly. “Though, your cousin has been causing waves trying to figure out if you’re innocent or not.”

“Cousin?”

“Narcissa.”

“Are you serious?”

Lupin gave the man on the ground a dark look.

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” Hermione asked, sounding annoyed.

“He’s a werewolf. Big deal. He’s only a wolf at night, when the moon is full, but he takes a potion, likely that smoking goblet Harry saw Snape give him that one time, and he’s fine!” Draco cried.

“Hermione, drop it.”

“Harry, the books have all said—” 

“Seriously, Hermione, drop it,” Harry said, his tone serious and almost deadly. He sounded a lot like Potter all of a sudden. “I want to know how if Snape told the Slytherins, Draco knew.”

A glimpse of Potter. Draco blinked, suddenly going back to when they were in the Room of Requirement during the Battle. 

Everyone stared at Draco. Hermione looked smug, Lupin looked worried and Black looked confused. Draco sighed deeply, kneading his forehead with his fingers. 

“I’m a time traveller,”  Draco muttered.

“What?” Black asked. “Did you get knocked in the head harder than I thought?”

“Draco, not this again. You tried that excuse first year. Try again,” Harry said, folding his arms across his chest.

“I knew about the werewolf thing because when I was…well, let’s see, it would have been technically…ten years ago almost?”

“Draco,” Lupin said in a warning tone. “I don’t think now is the time to explain this to Harry.”

“YOU BELIEVE HIM?” 

Lupin shifted on his feet for a moment then nodded. 

“Harry, he’s telling the truth,” Hermione said. “That’s why I got so mad. I thought he’d told me all the vital things.”

She glared at Draco. 

Harry shook his head. “No. You can’t time travel unless you’ve got a Time Turner. You do not have one!”

“No, can’t say I do.”

“All other ways have to be illegal! Or impossible!” Harry cried, looking between everyone for agreement. He got none. 

“Sometimes time travel happens,” Black quietly muttered. “And you don’t know why.” 

Harry made a noise that fell between a roar of frustration and a whimper. 

“So, er, let’s stick to the matter at hand for now. We’ll deal with my…origins later,” Draco said. “So, how’d you know we were here?”

Draco looked at Lupin. Lupin handed Draco his wand, then Harry his and then held Hermione out her own wand. She snatched it from him, eyeing him. Lupin sighed in resignation and stepped back to stand next to Black. 

“The map. I was watching it tonight waiting—”

Harry looked suspicious. “You know how it works?”

Black snorted. Lupin shot him a look before answering Harry.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I? I helped write it. I’m Moony. It was my nickname. Given to me by Sirius.”

“You…wrote it?” 

Lupin nodded, folding his hands behind his back. He began to pace the room. 

“I was watching it tonight, because I knew that you three would sneak off to Hagrid’s to visit before the hippogriff was executed. I figured, even with all the rules about not going out, you’d use the Cloak and sneak out.”

“You know…how?”

Lupin rolled his eyes as he paced towards where Draco was seated. He turned sharply and headed towards the door. “The number of times we all vanished under James’s Invisibility Cloak are too many to bother counting. It was the secret to our success as Marauders. But, even under the Cloak, you are still visible on the Marauder’s Map. So, I kept an eye on you three. Three went into the hut, but some twenty minutes later there were four.”

No one said anything for a beat. Lupin continued to pace. 

“I didn’t want to believe it, trust me,” Lupin went on. “I thought there must be some sort of malfunction. There was no way he was with you.”

“But, he was,” Black muttered.

“Then, suddenly, two of you broke off from the group and headed towards the Whomping Willow and I noticed another dot labeled _Sirius Black_ moving quickly at you. And I knew Draco had been right.”

Lupin suddenly stopped pacing and pinned his erie eyes on Draco.

“I take it you know something else important about the rat besides…besides that it would free Sirius?”

Draco nodded. “Yeah.”

“The rat is paramount,” Harry faintly said, looking shell shocked. 

“Can I see that rat?” Lupin asked. 

“Who else made the map?” Harry asked. “I mean, we figured out it was Pettigrew and Black, and now you. Was my dad the other one?”

Lupin paused, turning to Harry. “Yes. Your father, Sirius, myself and Peter Pettigrew.”

“Messers Moony, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail,” Harry faintly said, looking around wildly. “That’s you?”

“Your dad was Prongs,” Black offered.

“Sirius, I think it’s time you tell them what happened twelve years ago,” Lupin said quietly, staring at the rat Draco was holding out. 

Black’s eyes locked on the rat in Draco’s grasp. Lupin seemed to know what Black was going to do before he did it, as he cross the dusty room and restrained Black before he could throw himself at Draco. 

“Let me at him! Let me do it!” Black said, arms waving under Lupin’s. 

“Sirius, NO!” Lupin pushed Black up against the wall, pinning him as if Black was a small child. “You can’t just… no. Harry must understand. Hermione must understand.” He turned and gave Draco a funny look. “I don’t think Draco explained it very well to Hermione. Clearly.”

“There are some aspects that don’t make sense,” Draco admitted. “All I know is Sirius was innocent and Pettigrew was a rat.” 

Lupin caught Draco’s use of tense before Draco had realized what he’d really said. The color drained from his face suddenly. 

“We can explain later!” Black shouted, trying to move from under Lupin’s hold. His hands were clawing the air over Lupin’s shoulders. Lupin raised his other hand up and pushed Black against the wall. 

“No. They need to know now. You owe Harry the truth before we do anything.”

Black stopped moving, his eyes slowly moving to Lupin. “We?”

He moved his hallow eyes back to the rat after seeing something on Lupin’s face. Lupin let go and backed up a few paces.

Harry looked torn, confused and angry. He clutched his wand. “Fine. Tell us. There was a street full of witnesses. All saying that a mad man killed all those people. They saw Peter die. Tell me what they really saw and why you thought it was hilarious.”

Draco and Hermione looked at Harry in question, but Harry refused to look at anyone except Black. 

“That was what they thought they saw! It was what Peter wanted them to see!” Black savagely said, eyes still on the rat.

“It’s true. I believed it,” Lupin admitted, sounded ashamed of himself. “Until the map tonight. That map doesn’t lie. Even after Draco…but, the map wasn’t broken, it can’t break. Peter is alive. He’s there.”

“NO!” Hermione insisted, looking as if she was fighting with herself. “People would know if he could turn into a rat! You have to register with the Ministry. I did my homework when we covered Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. No! No! No! I looked it up after Draco mentioned Weasley’s rat wasn’t a rat! You have to tell the Ministry of Magic what animal you turn into, what markings and such. I looked up Professor McGonagall and there have only been seven Animagi this century. Pettigrew wasn’t on that list. Nor is Sirius Black!”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. Hermione was nothing but efficient at her homework. 

“Right again,” Lupin praised. “But, I doubt you saw the name James Potter on that list either.”

“Or the other countless unregistered ones,” Black grumbled. “It’s not that uncommon.” 

Hermione looked as if someone had just told her the sky was yellow and grass happened to be made out of cheese. 

“My dad was one?” Harry asked, his jaw dropping. 

“There were three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts while we were at school,” Lupin admitted. 

There was another loud creak from downstairs. Lupin went back to the door and poked his head out. “No one there still.”

“This place is haunted,” Harry offered, though he didn’t really sound so sure.

“No. It never was. The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me,” Lupin stated as if it were common knowledge. He pushed the graying tawny hair out of his eyes, a pensive look on his tired face. “I guess that is where we ought to start. My starting at Hogwarts. Or my becoming a werewolf.”

“Remus,” Black moaned. “I’ve waited twelve years. I don’t want to wait twelve more.”

“All right, all right,” Lupin said, a note of fondness in his tone. He turned his attention to Harry. “I was bitten when I was very young. My parents tried everything, we traveled all over, but there was no cure, nothing to ease the pain. You see, that potion Professor Snape has been making for me is only a recent discovery. It makes me safe. As long as I take it every night the week proceeding the full moon, I don’t turn into a full fledge monster when the moon rises. I can curl up in my office and sleep peacefully as a wolf. I’m still in a great deal of pain during the transformation, but I no longer rip myself to shreds.

“Before Wolfsbane Potion, you see, my transformations were horrible. They were painful and afterwards I bit and scratched myself because I was always kept away from other humans. Werewolves only bite other humans, you see. One night a month, I turned into a monster, unable to remember what happened while the full moon was up. My parents kept me hidden, locked away during these times, but I still didn’t have a normal life. It seemed almost impossible for me to attend Hogwarts, as other people wouldn’t want their children around a werewolf.”

Lupin cast his eyes towards Hermione before quickly looking away. She quickly went red and tried to make herself tiny.

“What happened? How did you end up at Hogwarts?” Harry asked. He had an almost desperate expression on his face.

“Dumbledore became headmaster and when it was time for me to attend, I got my Hogwarts letter. We didn’t think it’d come. But it did, along with a note that Dumbledore was aware of my condition and he thought if we took a few precautions, there was no reason I wouldn’t be able to attend.”

Black had an unreadable expression as Lupin spoke. It was almost as if Lupin’s voice was lulling him into some kind of stupor, as his eyes drifted from the rat to Lupin and back again. 

Lupin sighed. “I told you months ago, Harry, the Whomping Willow was planted the year I came to Hogwarts. It as planted because I started at Hogwarts. This house was built for my use, the tunnel that leads here. All for me.”

Lupin suddenly looked miserable. Hermione put her hand over her mouth and glanced at Draco. This was news to him, but it made sense. 

“Once a month, Madam Pomfrey took me out of the school and led me to the house to transform. The tree was placed so no one would find the tunnel. It’s a rather angry tree.”

“You got that right,” Draco muttered, moving his head in such a way he suddenly saw stars. He groaned.

“It’s very painful to turn into a werewolf, as I’ve mentioned. A werewolf has a lot more bones than a human being, and it is differently shaped. Turning into a werewolf is nothing like turning into, say an Animagi. My bones break, muscles tear. It’s very painful to move from human to wolf and wolf to human. And since I was separated from other humans, I attacked myself, only making the transformation between wolf to human worst.”

“We noticed him missing one night a month. And he was always beat up, bruised and battered when he’d turn up again,” Black said, sounding like he was anxious to get to the point. “Remus made up all sorts of stories. Told us his mother was ill. He was sick. He was terrified we’d leave him if we found out.”  He cast a look at Hermione before looking back at Harry. “It didn’t take me long to figure out the shy, quiet boy was new to having friends and kids his age around him. And he didn’t trust.”

“How did you figure it out?” Harry asked.

“Similar to how your friend there figured it out,” Black said, eyes drifting over to Hermione again. “After we did, we wanted to help him out, so we did a lot of research.”

“They became Animagi,” Hermione breathed. “Because a werewolf is only a danger to humans. Oh…”

Draco snickered. This information, reckless behavior impressed Hermione in spite of herself. 

Lupin nodded. “Peter transformed into a rat, small enough to slip passed the attacking branches and freeze the tree. Sirius, into a dog large enough to keep a werewolf in check.”

“What was my dad?”

“A stag,” Lupin and Black said together. 

“Wait, do you remember them being there?” Draco asked. 

Lupin sighed. “Not really. But, after they began to show up, in fifth year, my transformations weren’t as painful. I no longer tore myself to bits, bit myself as often.” He cast a dark look at Sirius. “They took me out of the house, roaming the school grounds and running. The running was good for the wolf, as it tired him out, distracted him from his need to…bite.”

“Hurry up, Remus,” Black snarled suddenly, eyes snapping back to the rat.

“So, the nicknames…those pertains to the animals you became?” Harry asked. “So, my dad’s is…”

“Prongs,” Lupin offered. 

“Sirius is Padfoot?”

Lupin nodded.

“And here is Wormtail,” Draco drawled, trying to resist the urge to twirl the rat around in front of him. 

“Wait!” Hermione pushed herself to her feet. “That was really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you’d gotten away from them?”

Lupin sucked in a lot of air and his face fell. “I’m still haunted by that. We were young and foolish. We thought we were oh so clever, even after a few near misses.”

Lupin started to pace again. 

“I felt very guilty this year. I betrayed Dumbledore’s trust. He admitted me when no one else would have, then I went and broke the rules that had been set down for my own protection and others. I led three other students to become Animagi illegally. I was able to push my guilt aside when I was younger, but…”

Draco watched as Lupin’s face hardened and his curled his lip in disgust. “This year, I’ve been battling with myself on if I should tell Dumbledore I knew Sirius was an Animagi. I never did because I’m too cowardly. And Draco so firmly believed in Sirius’ innocence….I allowed myself…” Lupin trailed off, shaking his head. “Informing Dumbledore would have meant I’d have to admit my past transgressions and having Dumbledore’s trust has means the world to me. He’s hired me when I’ve been hard pressed to find another job—“

“You had a job?” Black asked, looking curious suddenly.

“Yes. I’ve been a…private tutor for the past nine years,” Lupin admitted. “But the child began school so I was out of a job.” 

“So, you didn’t tell Dumbledore about Sirius’s dog form because…you were scared?” Harry asked. “And because Draco thought he was innocent?” 

“Life for a werewolf is hard,” Lupin said, turning towards Harry. “Even though we are only monsters once a month, we are see as werewolves all the time. We’re not to be trusted, not to be hired, not to be treated as humans. We’re seen as sub-human, or half breeds by our fellow wizards.”

Hermione let out a rather pathetic noise, having fallen for that bunch of lies.

“But, you’re only not human one night a month,” Draco pointed out, more so for Harry than anyone else. “The rest of the time you’re more human than some other humans. Sometimes.”

“Very true, Draco.”

“So, you didn’t tell Dumbledore?” Harry prompted.

“Because I convinced myself Sirius was getting into Hogwarts by using the Dark Arts he’d learned from Voldemort. Or…I’m not sure…Draco’s belief swayed me a little, but I managed to talk myself into the fact his being an Animagi had nothing to do with him getting into the school…so, in a way, Snape’s been right all along.”

“Snape?” Black snapped, taking his eyes off the rat and looking at Lupin. “What’s Snape got to do with anything?”

“He assigned the essay?” Hermione asked, looking confused. 

“He told Draco stuff in another lifetime?” Harry asked, eyeing Draco. 

“He’s here, Sirius. He’s the potions professor.”

Black looked like someone had just fed him a lemon. 

“Professor Snape fought very hard against my appointment to the DADA job. He’s been telling Dumbledore all year I can’t be trusted,” Lupin said, looking disgusted with himself again.

Black made a derisive noise. “Is he still bent out of shape about that stupid…”

“Sirius,” Lupin snapped.

“It served him right. Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to, hoping to get us kicked out of school. If he had just kept his big nose to himself,” Black grumbled.

“Sirius,” Lupin snapped again. 

“He wanted to know where you went each month,” Hermione realized. “He figured it out.”

Lupin nodded. “He didn’t like us anyways. There were… a lot of ill feelings between Severus, James and Sirius. I’m not sure what Sirius was thinking—” Lupin sent Black a dark look. “But he told Severus to poke the Whomping Willow with a stick and he could see…something. James heard what Sirius had foolishly done and went after Snape. He pulled him back, at great risk to his own life and got Snape away from me, but not before Snape realized what I turned into each full moon.”

Lupin continued to glare at Sirius. It was still clear that whatever event that transpired all those years ago, Lupin still was waiting for Sirius to feel regret, or something. Black shifted a bit, but muttered something about a greasy git.

“He was forbidden to tell anyone by Dumbledore,” Lupin went on tiredly, turning back to Harry. “But he knows…”

“Is that why he doesn’t like you? Or is it because…does he think you were on the, uh…”

“Prank?” Draco offered, though he wasn’t sure if that was the right word for what Sirius had done.

“Correct, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco’s blood froze, turning towards the voice that had just spoken. He’d totally forgotten about Snape’s involvement in this night— not sure how, as it was the reason he’d known all along Lupin was a werewolf. 

The whole room turned towards the source of the voice to find Severus Snape standing right in front of Lupin, wand pointed at the later’s heart. The Invisibility Clock fluttered to the ground. 


	22. Riddle Inside a Time

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Hermione slapped her hand over her mouth, tripping over her feet and crashing into Draco, causing him to jolt to the side and see a few fireworks. The rat fell from his grasp and Black vaulted across the room, knocking into Lupin, who flew sideways, and slammed into Harry. Draco face-planted into the bed as he heard Hermione scream, someone howl in rage, Harry shout and saw a few flashes of light. Draco wasn’t sure if those were spells or just his own fireworks behind his eyelids. 

“QUIET!” 

At Snape’s order, the room fell quiet. The only noise Draco could hear was breathing. Black’s was a hallow rasping, Lupin’s was panting and Hermione’s was hitched every now and then. Harry huffed. Draco pushed his face out of the musty bed and sneezed, breaking some of the tension in the room. 

“Bless you,” Lupin automatically said.

Snape hissed.

Lupin pushed himself into a seated position and wearily eyed Snape. Black scrambled on his hands and knees for the stunned rat. Before Black got close, Snape sent a hex, getting Black’s hand. Black hissed in pain, and stopped. He glared at Snape, clutching his hand to his chest.

“Don’t move,” Snape hissed. “I found this near the tree. Thank you, Potter, for dropping this.”

He waved his hand at the discarded Cloak. Harry, on the ground for some reason, scowled deeply. 

Snape crossed the room to where Lupin was seated and pressed the point of his wand into his forehead. Hermione scrambled onto the bed and helped Draco up and onto it so he was no longer facing downward, while Harry grabbed Black, dragging him backwards. The skeleton man waved his hands at the fallen rat, but the scrawny thirteen-year-old boy proved stronger than Black. 

Snape only had eyes for Lupin and failed to notice the others moving within the world. He continued to press the wand into Lupin’s forehead while Lupin steadily gazed at Snape, his calm manner holding even while the wand attempted to set his hair on fire with the sparks it was giving off.  

“I bet you’re wondering how I found you, Lupin, hmmm? I went to your office tonight, you forgot your potion, so I took you a goblet. And I’m so lucky I decided to be nice.”

Snape spat the word _nice_ out. 

“I was so _fortunate_ you left the map on your desk in your haste. One glance told me where you were off to in such a rush. I saw you heading to the Whomping Willow.”

“Severus…” Lupin began but Snape pressed the wand further into his forehead, the triumph shining into his face. 

“I’ve told the headmaster over and over that you were helping your _friend_ , Lupin. I’ve got the proof now. Who knew your meeting place would be this place,” Snape snarled.

“You’re making a mistake, Severus,” Lupin pleaded, the urgency in his tone.

“Black’s not here to kill Harry!” Draco exclaimed.

Snape’s dark gaze shot over to Draco. 

“Shut up, Draco,” he snapped, then turned back to Lupin, a sick smile on his face. “Two more for Azkaban tonight.”

Whatever color Black had in his face, left. Lupin was even more pale than before, the scars on his face standing out. Snape’s eyes glittered dangerously as he moved the wand and dug it into Lupin’s cheek. Lupin was forced to turn his head to the side and he fell backwards, bracing himself on his hands in order to remain upright. 

“I wonder how Dumbledore will react hearing his pet wolf isn’t as harmless as he wants to believe.”

“You fool,” Lupin spit out. “Sirius is innocent!”

BANG!

Draco jumped back and rammed his head into Hermione, who had for some unknown reason huddled behind Draco. 

“Ouch!”

After the stars cleared and the world stopped spinning, Draco noted Lupin was covered in snakelike cords, bound and gagged on the floor. Black roared, rather suddenly, pushing Harry to the side and charged towards Snape, till Snape pushed the wand into Black’s chest.

“Give me one reason, Black,” Snape snarled. “I’ll kill you right here and now and I doubt anyone would care.”

Black froze, his eyes going towards Lupin.

“He doesn’t count. He’s not human,” Snape snapped, then laughed bitterly.

Black stared at Snape, hate etched in every line of his face. Draco glanced at Harry, who stood up slowly and pressed himself into the wall behind him. He looked at Draco, then looked at Hermione, who timidly slid off the bed, clutching her wand to the side. Her jaw worked for a moment, as if she was furious with herself about something. She took a deep breath and gave a curt nod. Harry looked at Draco again once before looking back at Snape and Black in the center of the room.  

“Professor Snape— uh, would it hurt if you heard what they’ve got to say? About why Mr. Black is, well— here?”

Snape looked over his shoulder at Hermione. “Miss Granger, you’re facing suspension. You, Potter and…Malfoy are out of bounds. And not for the first time,” he bit out. “It’s no wonder. Look at the company you keep. A werewolf and convicted fellow.”

He sneered at Black, digging his wand into the bony chest. Black balled his fists and glared. 

“So, for once in your life, hold your tongue,” Snape spat towards Hermione. 

“But…they are right and the rat—”

“I TOLD YOU TO KEEP QUIET YOU STUPID GIRL!” Snape shouted, whirling around. He looked quite deranged, a new look for the man. Draco felt appalled that this man was his godfather and a guy his father trusted with his only son’s life. Not that it didn’t make sense why his father chose Snape. Severus Snape was slippery, moving behind the lines back and forth. 

He was a very good Slytherin. 

Only, he currently seemed to have decided to have a bag of cats for brains. 

“DO NOT SPEAK OF THINGS YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND!”

Sparks flew out of the end of Snape’s wand, causing Hermione to jump backwards, tumbling onto the bed. Snape whirled around, his robes billowing and pressed his wand into Black’s cheek. Black stared at the rat on the ground. Harry inched over to the side to where the rat was located.

“Vengeance is sweet,” Snape breathed, digging his wand further into Black’s cheek. “Did you know I hoped to be the one to catch you? Throw you to the dementors?”

Black’s eyes were still on the rat, which was now at Harry’s feet. Harry slowly bent down, picking the rat up.

“Joke’s on you. As long as the rat comes to the castle, I’ll go quietly.”

“I’m not going to take you to the castle. I think it’ll be fitting to have you kissed here. They can come get you here, yes, never even having to set foot on Hogwarts grounds, won’t that make Dumbledore happy,” Snape said, his voice low and silky.

Black’s eyes darted back to Snape.

“You have to hear me out,” he croaked as Snape pressed him backwards till Sirius’ back was pressed against the wardrobe. “The rat, look at the rat!”

“I don’t want to look at the rat,” Snape snarled. “All of you not getting the Kiss, out.”

No one moved. Snape turned around. His eyes glittered dangerously in the low light. 

“No. Professor Lupin could have killed me a load of times this year. Could have turned me over to Black loads of times!” Harry shouted. “If he was helping, Black, don’t you think he would have done that?”

“Don’t ask me to make sense of how a werewolf thinks,” Snape snapped. “Get out, Potter.”

Harry platted himself, his grip tight on his wand. Draco looked around for a moment till his wand appeared in front of his noise. Hermione watching Harry carefully, but cast a quick look at Draco and shook his wand till he took it.

“You’re PATHETIC!” Harry bellowed, looking like he was at wit’s end. “Just because they made a fool of you at school is no reason—”

Snape suddenly turned and pointed his wand at Harry. “I will not be spoken to like that! You are just like your father! I have just saved you! You should be thanking me on bended knee, not acting like an insolent brat.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Draco slowly pushed himself to his feet, closing his eyes so he didn’t see the world spinning or stars. 

“You would have died tonight, just like your father! Full of his own arrogance! He was so arrogant he never stopped to think he couldn’t trust his dear friend Black. Now, get out, Potter!”

Harry didn’t move. Draco heard something from the doorway and glanced. He noticed Atlanta, standing in the doorway, a thunderous look on her face. He knew what she was going to do a second before she was going to and shouted the same spell. 

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

There was a loud blast as four people shouted the same spell at the same target. Snape was blasted away from Sirius and went flying into the wall sideways where he crumbled to the ground in a heap of black robes, a tickle of blood oozing from his forehead. Black stumbled backwards and caught Snape’s wand as it fell.

“You should have left him to me,” Black grumbled, going over to Lupin. 

“What were you going to do? I’m sure he’s got a good ten stone on you,” Draco reminded Black and he undid the cords around Lupin. 

“We just knocked out a teacher!” Hermione squeaked, collapsing on the bed. “Oh, gosh, we attacked him! We attached a teacher.”

Hermione began to whimper wordlessly.

“Now, do tell me what is going on here,” Atlanta demanded, drawing herself up to her full height and eyes an eerie glowing blue in the dim light of the room. 

Draco shivered, as the look on her face was familiar and not one he was familiar seeing on her face.  

Black finished uniting Lupin who leapt to his feet, his face thunderous as he looked at Atlanta.

“Atlanta Siria Black what are you doing here?”

Black fell over, landing on his rear. He turned to look at the girl in the doorway. Atlanta pressed her lips together, stepping further into the room. She gazed at the heap of filthy and grime that was Sirius Black and looked between Hermione, who was still whimpering, Draco who was leaning on the bed, and finally to Harry who was looking like he wasn’t sure he did the right thing at all. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a flask.

“You forgot this,” she said, holding it out to Lupin. 

“That still doesn’t explain why you thought it was a good idea to follow Snape down here,” Lupin snapped, going over to her and taking the flask. He quickly downed the contents. After he shuddered he said, “Not that I don’t appreciate you coming with this.”

“I know. You are most welcome,”she smiled, then turned her attention to the rest of the room. “So, do tell. What have y’all gotten yourselves into this time?”

Black slowly got to his feet, staring at Atlanta as if she had two heads and was speaking Gobbledegook (granted the word _y’all_ coming out in her odd British accent was a bit unnerving). Atlanta’s hands vanished into the pockets of her coat, vanishing up to her mid-forearm. She rocked back and forth, eyes going between Sirius, Harry, Draco and Hermione. 

“I did hear quite a bit before Professor Snape made himself known, mind you,” she offered when no one said anything, other than Hermione who was now whimpering about how much trouble they were in. Atlanta walked further into the room, coming to a halt when she could see Black from around Lupin. “Excuse me? Wait a second. Is that really Sirius Black?” 

Everyone nodded. 

“Are you serious?”

“That’s my name,” Sirius said, no humor in his voice. 

“Don’t wear it out,” Atlanta automatically said like she couldn’t stop herself. A faint smile appeared on Lupin’s lips. 

“All righty, then,” Atlanta said, ruffling her short hair at the back of her head. Sirius stared at her as if he was seeing a ghost. She looked at Harry, who was holding the rat. “So, what’s with the rat?”

“Not a rat. It’s a man called Peter Pettigrew,” Harry explained. 

“Okay. And he’s…who exactly?”

“The guy who betrayed my parents and then framed Sirius,” Harry replied. 

“And that’s why you’ve escaped? To get this rat? How did you figure out Pettigrew was still alive? And this rat?” Atlanta inquired. 

“That’s a fare question, Sirius,” Lupin said quietly. “How did you figure out where he was?”

Black cracked his neck a moment then put a claw like hand into his robe pocket, taking out a crumble pice of paper. He held it out to Lupin. Lupin gasped, nodding his head. Atlanta, who was standing at his shoulder, knitted her eyebrows together. 

“It’s a picture of the Weasley’s in Egypt,” she stated. 

“And BINGO was his name-o!” Draco sang quietly.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, snapping out of her worry about their attack on Snape. “You were right, Draco.” 

Atlanta looked up, her eyes looking between Hermione and Draco. The look on her face told them to explain. 

“Look at the rat on Ron’s shoulder,” Draco offered.

“How did you get this?” Lupin asked, his eyes wide. He looked utterly thunderstruck. “They don’t hand out papers in prison do they?”

Black shook his head in the negative. “Fudge gave it to me. He came to inspect Azkaban last summer. I like to do the crosswords. Fudge always gives me his paper if he has one. Then, that paper, there Peter was on the front page. I read the caption and it said he was going to Hogwarts, the boy. And the Weasleys are always in Gryffindor. Where Harry was. Likely.”

Lupin gasped, looking at Black. “You can see his front paw in the photo.”

“He’s missing a toe,” Atlanta offered, still looking over Lupin’s shoulder. She stood on her tip toes to see over his shoulder and Draco suddenly realized she was dressed in sleep shorts, a wool coat and sandals.

“Atlanta, what on earth are you wearing?” Draco suddenly asked.

Lupin startled and stared at Atlanta, frowning. “What are you wearing?”

“Clothes. They said…that the biggest part of Peter was…” Atlanta trailed off. 

“His finger,” Harry finished, also eyeing Atlanta’s strange getup.

“So simple, brilliant,” Atlanta breathed.

“Even for Peter,” Lupin muttered. 

Black nodded gravely. “Chopped the finger off before he transformed.”

“Wait a second,” Atlanta said, falling back to her heels. “I heard some of backstory, but what are y’all trying to say? I mean, Draco’s been going on for quite a bit of time that Sirius Black is innocent and something about a rat, but I thought he was simply mental.”

“I am not mental,” Draco said. “Just misunderstood.”

Hermione slugged him. 

“Might I see the rat?” Atlanta asked. 

Harry nodded, extending the rat out towards her. Atlanta moved around Lupin and stood before Harry, bending a little to study the rat closer. 

“It is missing a toe. A front toe,” she breathed. She looked at Black. “So, when you corned Pettigrew on that street…what happened?”

“Peter realized I was there because he betrayed Harry’s parents and I’d figured it out. I was mad, so I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”

Lupin pressed his lips together in a tight line and balled his free hand. Atlanta noticed and frowned. 

“But, when I managed to find him, he ran out onto the crowded street, shouted for the whole world to hear I had betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street, hit a gas pipe and vanished, leaving behind his finger. He killed everyone within twenty feet of him who couldn’t produce a shield charm in time.”

“The thirteen Muggles,” Harry said, his lip curling as his looked at the rat in his hands. Atlanta straightened up. 

“How long has that rat been in Ronald’s family?” Lupin asked quietly, folding the paper up. 

“I don’t know. But, I’m pretty sure it’d be twelve years,” Harry offered.

“Weasley was in the pet shop getting rat tonic for him when Hermione got Crookshanks,” Draco said. “I’m pretty sure he said the rat had been his older brother’s before.”

“He does look rather thin and worn. Is that why Ronald was there?” Atlanta inquired. 

“Correct,” Draco replied. 

“And since you saw this…you decided to fly the coop!” Atlanta said. “Oh, Ronald always blamed the cat for this. He was off color before the cat.” 

Harry nodded. He held the rat out, looking even more disgusted. Atlanta took it from him, turning it over in her hands. 

“That cat’s not mad, either,” Black said. “He’s the most intelligent of his kind I’ve ever met. He knew what Pettigrew was right away. And me too. It took me awhile, but he trusted me eventually. He’s been the one helping me.”

“Oh!”

Atlanta suddenly began jumping up and down. Lupin put a hand on her shoulder and she stopped. Black looked mildly amused. 

“He tried to bring you Peter, but wasn’t able to get him away without notice!”

“Yeah, but the cat did the next best thing and was able to communicate me the passwords to the dungeons. Evidently, they only use like three.”

Draco snorted. 

“By the time I was able to get into the dungeons, thought, Peter had gotten wind of what I was up to and ran for it. Hence why when I showed up, all I got was the ginger in bed. What did you call this cat?”

“Crookshanks,” Hermione whispered.

“Crookshanks told me Peter had left blood and a few cat hairs on the boy’s sheets. Faked his death, once again and went into hiding.”

Black turned his empty eyes to the rat in Atlanta’s hands.

“But now you’ve found him, so I can finish him off,” Black said, narrowing his eyes at the rat. Harry quickly grabbed the rat from Atlanta. He took one look at Black and backed up several steps, bumping into the window.

“No.”

“Harry!” Lupin yelled while Draco banged his head against the bed, which hurt like crazy and made his eyes tear up. 

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione asked, taking a step away from the bed.

“Draco, what does this rat do in the future?” Harry asked, looking down at Draco. 

“Uh…”

“Tell me.”

Draco frowned, glancing between Lupin and Hermione. Lupin wore a blank mask, while Hermione shrugged a little bit. Atlanta frowned, looking up at Lupin and then back at Draco.

“Peter Pettigrew was…could be…he’s the reason…for, er, Voldemort’s second coming? He comes back to life, uh, next year and Pettigrew plays a big role and gets a shiny, silver hand for his trouble.”

Silence. Draco looked up from his lap where he’d been staring to find everyone staring at him with horrified expressions. 

“So, it is true,” Harry breathed, his green eyes huge. His breath quickened and he collapsed against the window. “You are from the future. How?”

“Later, Harry,” Lupin said shortly. “Draco, are you saying he’ll be back? Voldemort’s not really dead?”

Sirius snorted.

“No. He’s not dead. We’ve, uh, actually met him,” Draco admitted, indicating between Hermione and Harry. “First year. He was living in the back of Quirrell’s head.”

“Harry, what do you know? You knew what Draco was going to say before he did,” Hermione pointed out, studying Harry carefully. 

Harry gulped and said, “During my exam with Trelawney she went all strange and said something about tonight was the night master would be reunited with servant and the Dark Lord will rise again…more terrible than before.”

“We cannot let that happen,” Lupin said. 

“We can try to stop it, but Time’s got a mind all her own,” Draco explained. 

“We’re not letting the rat go. And who knows, that…wait, why are you putting any stock into what that old fraud says?” Hermione asked, straightening up and glaring at Harry. 

Harry frowned. “You weren’t there. She didn’t remember saying anything after and she was talking in a really strange voice.”

“Prophecies are real, Hermione,” Atlanta said in a low tone. “And it sounds like Professor Trelawney might have made a real one. But, they do not always come true. They only really come to be if you put stock into them. So, I say we take the rat and Sirius Black to the castle and speak to Dumbledore.” 

“She’s right. For all we know, the servant could be someone other than Pettigrew,” Draco reminded the room. “I know all of you haven’t read the book, but Time…she works funny. There’s fixed points, which you can change, but sometimes they wind up happening anyways. Only different than they did the first time.”

“You erased the timeline,” Atlanta breathed. “It was you!”

“Actually, it was technically you,” Draco pointed out. “When you went back to 1943.”

“Now is not the time for this conversation,” Lupin said. “But, just one thing. Sirius, Lanta…didn’t she warn you?”

“She was dead.”

Lupin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Did Tom? Why weren’t you the Secret Keeper?” Lupin quietly asked. 

Black gulped, shoving his claw like hands into his pockets. “I was the first choice and who Lily and James told Dumbledore they had chosen. Tom did tell me I ought to do it, but I…”

“Would never listen to Tom,” Atlanta quietly said.

Sirius frowned and glanced at Lupin, who shrugged and waved his hand. 

“Who is Tom?” Hermione asked. “You’ve mentioned him several times.”

Lupin, Sirius and Atlanta all stared at Hermione blankly. They then all looked at one another.

“He’s Tom,” Atlanta replied. 

Sirius snorted. “He’s a pain in the arse.”

“Tom is quite complicated and we do not have time to explain it to you at the moment. So, after being advised by Lanta and Tom to be the Secret Keeper, why didn’t you?”

“Lily and James told Dumbledore they’d do the charm themselves— Lily was a master of charms. So, after they’d settled with Dumbledore I persuaded them to use Peter, because…well, he was a useless lump. I mean, there…Lanta was dead and Tom couldn’t do it. There was really only Peter and myself…well, because…even though she told me…”

Lupin waved his hand for Sirius to just get on with it while all the teenagers in the room looked somewhat confused.

“No one would ever think we’d trust Peter to protect them. So, he would be easy to hide and keep safe. So, in that sense I’m to blame for this whole mess. I talked them into using Peter. The night they died, Tom said…Tom said he felt something. He said a disturbance in the force. Thinking he was just trying to get rid of me, I argued with him for a whole hour. Then I went to check on Peter. I found his place cleaned out. Neatly. There was no struggle. Alarms went off in my head. Everything you said, everything Lanta said, everything Tom spent a whole year shouting at me…I went straight to the Potter’s house and…destroyed…dead…Harry in the ruins crying.”

Draco felt his throat constrict as he watched Harry take this news.

“I picked him out of the destruction just as Hagrid showed up. You wouldn’t stop crying for your Mum,” Black said, his voice sounding thick. “Hagrid had orders to take you to Dumbledore. After we got you to stop fussing, I handed you over and let Hagrid take the bike. I realized what Peter had done. Lanta had been right, like usual. I should have told Hagrid, but….”

Black stop talking, turning his back on the group.

“You’re controlled by your emotions,” Lupin quietly finished. He turned, his eyes narrowing. In a steely tone, he asked, “Where is the rat?”

“I’ve got it,” Atlanta said. 

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked. 

“We’re going to force him to show himself. We will not hurt him. If this is indeed a rat, nothing will happen. I’ve things to ask him before we turn him over,” Lupin said calmly. He turned to Sirius. “You ready?”

Twirling Snape’s wand in his hands for a moment, Black nodded. He stepped up next to Lupin, dead eyes twinkling a bit in the darkness as he glared at the rat. Atlanta set it on the ground, then moved Harry and herself over to stand out of the way.  

“Together?” he asked quietly.

“I would think so,” Lupin agreed. “I’ll wake him up, then on three.”

Black nodded. Lupin cast a silent awakening spell and the rat began to squeak and wither, spinning in circles as both Lupin and Black glared at him. 

“One, two…THREE.”

A flash of blue-white light filled the room, causing Draco to shield his eyes and a few random black spots to appear in his vision. When he opened his eyes at Hermione’s gasp, he found the rat hanging frozen in mid-air, twisting madly as if he was trying to escape, but unable to. Suddenly the rat hit the floor with a thud. Another bright flash, which made Draco close his eyes again, and Draco heard Harry fall over and Atlanta say, “Oh, gross.” 


	23. Under the Moonlight

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

When Draco opened his eyes, Crookshanks leapt out from his hiding spot under the bed, spitting and hissing like crazy, and there was a rather rat-like man standing in the center of the room. Lupin and Black kept their wands pointed at this rat-faced man, who was sniveling with a twitching nose. The man had almost colorless hair that was unkept with a rather large bald spot on top and the appearance of a formerly plump man who had withered away in a short amount of time. His features were all pointy and grubby. If anyone was meant to be a rat, it was this guy. Draco curled his lips in disgust remembering the man from his days at the Malfoy manor. He was really a useless lump, who thought he was all important due to his silver hand given to him by the Dark Lord for cutting off his hand to bring the megalomaniac back to a body. The man turned towards Draco, his watery eyes darting all over and his nose twitching as if he was still in rat form.

Though, after some twelve years as a rat, he might start doing things without realizing it. 

“Why, hello, Peter,” Lupin said pleasantly as if he’d just happen to run into Peter on the street. “Long time, no see.”

Lupin was even smiling, though it was vaguely creepy. Peter’s eyes darted around, taking in Lupin and Black, both who were still pointing wands at him. His eyes lingered on Lupin. He misjudged the creepy smile the man was wearing. 

“R-Remus…my friend….old friend,” Peter squeaked. His eyes darted for the door, which was blocked by Atlanta, who while only thirteen, was still rather tall and wore an air of authority. Dimly, Draco realized she only needed maybe five more inches to be as tall as Lupin. 

“Sirius is here too, Peter. He was so excited to find out you’re still alive,” Lupin went on in the same pleasant tone.

“S-S-Sirius…”

Black made a motion to move forward, but Lupin grabbed his wrist. A warning look was shot and Black backed up a bit. Lupin turned back to Peter, creepy smile back in place.

“We’ve been chatting, Peter. You know, talking through old times. Remember, when Lily and James died? You missed all the finer points due to the fact you’ve been knocked out.”

Peter’s eyes darted all over the place. “Remus. What’s he been telling you? Lies. It’s all lies.”

Draco noticed Lupin’s lip curl a bit in disgust and he looked somewhat nauseous. A quick look at Atlanta told him she was smelling the same thing Lupin was, as her nose suddenly flared in the same manner Lupin’s nose did. Draco swept his eyes back to Pettigrew to find he had broken out in beads of sweat all over his grubby face.

“Fear,” Hermione whispered into Draco’s ear. “He can smell it.”

Hermione clearly did not see Atlanta’s similar reaction. 

“He’s here to kill me. Again!” the tiny man squeaked. “You’ve got to help me R-Remus. He killed Lily and James! And now me too!”

Black snarled. Lupin made some sort of noise, which made Black backed off, looking like a scolded dog. 

“No one is going to try to kill you until we sort things out. A few finer points,” Lupin offered, his nose slightly twitching. 

Draco had to contain a snort when he saw Atlanta doing the same thing. The rat must really reek. 

“Sort things out? I knew he’d come for me! I knew he’d be back for me! I’ve been waiting for twelve years!”

Lupin’s eyebrows rose a bit. He almost looked like Pettigrew had suggested an interesting theory in Defense class. “You knew Sirius would break out of Azkaban?”

“When no one has ever done it?” Atlanta asked. “Wow, do you have Seer blood? Because, no one ever dreamed of Sirius Black escaping.”

“He’s got Dark power!” Peter shirked, then let out a random squeak for some reason. “Powers no one had ever dreamed of! How else did he get out of there? Dark Magic. I bet He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him tricks! Told him how to get out.”

Black barked a laugh. It was horrible, mirthless and filled the room. “Moldy teach me tricks? Voldemort wouldn’t teach me tricks even if I asked.”

Pettigrew flinched at the sound of Voldemort’s name as if Black had just whipped him.

“Voldemort only ever taught one person anything,” Atlanta flatly stated. “And there is no way I could have broken out of Azkaban.”

“What? When did…what?” Sirius sputtered, looking as if Atlanta had just hit him with a frying pan upside the head.

Harry glanced at Draco, frowning. Draco shrugged. Atlanta outright refused to speak of what exactly happened to her the previous year.

No wonder. Draco couldn’t imagine having lessons from Voldemort was something pleasant. 

“Not now, Sirius,” Lupin scolded. “Peter, why have you been in hiding for twelve years?”

“Can I hazard a guess?” Sirius asked. Lupin eyed the other man for a moment before he nodded. “I bet Moldy’s lot aren’t too happy with you. I can think of quite a few inmates at that hell hole who curse you on a daily basis. You do remember Bellatrix, right? Oh, she really hates you. Yet, they think you’re dead.”

“Don’t….don’t know….what you mean,” Pettigrew stuttered, breathing even faster. He was a sweaty mess now. His little, beady eyes darted all over the place. 

“You haven’t been hiding from me, you’ve been hiding from all Moldy’s old supporters. All the ones that got locked up— oh, they say things, Peter. I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potter’s on information given by you. He met his end there, because of your information.”

Black took a few steps towards Peter. Peter stumbled backwards till he was pressed up against the window.  

“And not all the Death Eaters are locked up are they? Oh, no. They are out and about, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways. What would happen if they got wind you were still alive?”

Sirius looked deranged. Like he was almost having too much fun taunting Pettigrew. Granted, Draco doubted Sirius had had much fun in the last twelve years. He might have a right to go a bit overboard. 

Pettigrew stuttered a few times about not knowing what Black was talking about, his voice raising about eight octaves as he stumbled over words. He looked at Lupin helplessly. 

“I must admit, Peter, I’m having trouble understanding why an innocent man would remain a rat for twelve odd years,” Lupin asked, scratching his chin with his free hand. 

“Innocent but scared! If Voldemort’s supporters were after me it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban! The spy!” Peter pointed a finger at Black. “Sirius Black!”

Black’s face contorted in rage.

“How dare you,” he spat out. A growl rose up within him, making him sound like the bear like dog he had been before. “Why would I spy for Voldemort? He disgusts me. Everything I stand for, he’s against. But, you. You, Peter, who are attracted to those who are stronger and more powerful.”

Black snorted and shook his head, his dirty hair swinging. 

“I’ll never understand why I didn’t think you were the spy in the first place? We hardly saw you! You put ideas in our heads, pitted us against each other!”

“You pulled away from me!” Peter squeaked, suddenly standing up straight. “You all had one another and I had no one!” 

Black snorted. Lupin sighed loudly while Atlanta suddenly grabbed her right arm and twitched like someone was shouting at her. 

“Mistakes might have been made, but that didn’t mean you had to turn to Voldemort. Why, Peter?” Lupin asked, his earlier disgust leaving his face. 

“I’m not the spy,” the tiny man squeaked.

“You liked powerful, popular friends. Ones who could protect you. It used to be us, me and Remus…and James.”

“You’re out of your minds,” Pettigrew insisted, shaking his head. “Never…don't know…how….no.”

“Lily and James made you their secret keeper on my suggestion!” Black growled. Pettigrew took a few steps sideways. “I thought it as the ultimate bluff, but no. The weak, talentless thing like you turned out to be their downfall. I bet that was the best day of your life, turning up and telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.”

Pettigrew began muttering they were all insane. Harry inched closer to where Black was standing, moving around the heap of Snape. 

“Professor Lupin? Ca-Can I ask something, please?”

The room turned towards Hermione who was timidly raising her hand in the air. She lowered it when Lupin nodded. 

“Well, uh, this, erm, man, he’s had free access to Harry for the past three years. If he’s really working for You-Know-Who, then why did he never try to hurt Harry? He could have snuck into the Tower at any point.”

“There!” Peter shouted shrilly, pointing at Hermione with his maimed hand. “Thank you! See, Remus! I never hurt Harry. I’d never would. Why would I?”

“I’ll tell you,” Black spat. “Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what as in it for you! Voldemort is thought to be dead! You weren’t going to kill off the most famous wizard in Britain for some washed up wreck right under Albus Dumbledore’s nose! I bet that’s why you went to live with the Weasley’s. Keeping an ear out for news, huh? To pick which side you could come out to.”

Pettigrew sputtered. He said no words, having lost the power of speech it seemed. 

“Er— Mr. Black? Sirius?” 

Black jumped suddenly, turning to look at Hermione. It was clear it’d been a long time since he’d been spoken to politely.

“If you don’t mind, uh, how did you get out of Azkaban if you didn’t use Dark Magic?”

“Thank you! Exactly!” Peter shouted suddenly finding words to speak. 

Lupin appeared perplexed and looked at Black. Black meanwhile, stared at Hermione, studying her carefully.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. He scratched his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. “I think the only reason I never really lost my mind was because I knew I was innocent. That wasn’t a happy thought. It wasn’t able to be sucked out of me, so I clung to it and kept my sanity. I knew who I was. That, I think, helped me keep my magic in tact, even without my wand. You don’t need a wand to transform, so when it became too much, I became that dog. Dementors can’t see, you know, so they had no clue I was a dog.”

Black swallowed loudly. 

“Dementors feel their way around using emotions. Animal emotions are less complex than human, but they can’t tell the difference. They just knew, when I was a dog, I was less complex. I’m sure they assumed I was slowly loosing my mind, so they didn’t think much of it.”

“And the picture?” Lupin prompted.

“Well, I was weak. Everyone in there is weak after awhile. But…that picture. When I saw Peter in that damn picture, I knew Harry was at Hogwarts. I assumed he was in Gryffindor and the Weasleys are in Gryffindor. That damn rat was positioned perfectly if the Dark Side was to rise up again.”

“Come to the Dark Side,” Atlanta muttered in a disembodied voice. “We’ve got cookies.” 

“Siri,” Lupin sighed deeply.

Black looked at Lupin, looking like he wasn’t sure what he’d done to upset him. Draco looked at where Lupin was looking, or more like scowling at Atlanta. She twisted her mouth in an odd expression and shrugged. 

“Now is not the time for you to do that,” he informed her. “Sorry, Sirius.”

Black open and closed his mouth a few times, but Lupin went back to staring at Pettigrew.

“Anyways, Peter was poised, ready to strike if he ever got wind that Voldemort was back and strong enough. That would be the best way to deliver himself back into the good graces of Lord Voldemort: hand him Harry Potter on a plate.”

Black scowled, glaring at Pettigrew.

“I had to get out. It drove me. I was the only one who knew Peter was alive. Well, other than Tom, but he couldn’t exactly tell anyone.”

“Why not?” Atlanta asked. 

“Who is Tom?” Harry asked. “Who is he?”

“Tom was bound to…the flat,” Lupin said, shifting a little, and eyeing Peter. Atlanta looked at Peter and nodded, twitching a little as if someone had shouted in hear ear.

“Tom is antisocial,” Sirius announced. “After I was hauled off to prison, I doubt he’s spoken to anyone.”

Atlanta sighed.

“So, how did you get out, Sirius?” Lupin asked.

“I had a fire lit in my head. It wasn’t happy, so I got to keep it and it drove me. I obsessed about it and it cleared my mind. So, one night, they opened my door to bring food, I slipped out as a dog. Since I was so thin, I was able to slip through the bars that blocked the other doors and swam for shore.

“I traveled as a dog and headed north, slipping into the grounds of Hogwarts as a dog. I’ve been living in the forest, except that one time I came to watch Quidditch.” 

Black turned to Harry, who was now almost behind him. 

“You fly as well as your father, Harry.”

Draco held his breath as he watched the two make eye contact. He watched Harry’s face carefully.

“Harry, please believe me. I never meant betrayed your parents. I would have died before I did anything like that. I…I made a mistake. I allowed my…trust and beliefs to be twisted by someone I thought was a friend. And didn’t listen when others tried to tell me other wise.”

Harry looked like he believed Black. Draco peaked at Hermione, who looked like she was about to cry. Draco held out his hand, which she grabbed and held onto for dear life. Slowly, Harry nodded.

“NO!”

Pettigrew drew attention back to himself. He fell to his knees. Groveling he begged, “Remus! You can’t believe him! Wouldn’t Sirius told you of the plans? If they changed?”

Lupin shook his head sadly. “I was out of communication when the Potters went into hiding. Also, Sirius wouldn’t have told me. If you remember correctly, we weren’t on speaking terms at the time. I take it was you who put those ideas in Sirius’ head?”

Sirius hung his head while Pettigrew sputtered.

“Forgive me, Remus?”

“Of course, Padfoot. We all committed transgressions at that time,” Lupin said, his eyes drifting over his shoulder a moment before looking back at Peter. 

“Harry!” Pettigrew shirked, throwing himself behind Black and at Harry. “Harry…Harry, you look just like your father! Just like James!”

“DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK TO HARRY ABOUT JAMES! HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM! YOU’RE THE REASON HE’S GOT NO PARENTS!”

Black and Lupin grabbed Peter and dragged him backwards. Hermione somehow managed to drag Draco up onto the bed by his arm. He landed with a soft thud as Lupin and Black pushed Pettigrew down on the ground.

“Harry, Harry, James wouldn’t have killed me….James would have understood,” Pettigrew whispered, looking fearful at Black and Lupin as they glared at him. 

“James would have died for you before giving you up, you lump,” Black spat.

“You don’t understand! You never did! He was taking over everywhere! What was there to be gained by refusing him!?”

Black’s face contoured in fury. “What to be gained? That bastard was the most evil wizard ever! He murdered my brother and my friends! What was to be gained? Innocent lives spared, you miserable fu—” 

“HE WOULD HAVE KILLED ME!”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!”

“You should have realized, Peter, if Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter.”

Hermione covered her face with her hands and threw herself into Draco’s chest. Draco, not wishing to see death, turned his face and buried it in the over abundance of bushy hair Hermione happened have. 

“NO!”

Harry’s yell broke the tense atmosphere.

“You’re not killing him, remember?” 

Draco lifted his face out of Hermione’s hair to find Harry standing in between Pettigrew and Black and Lupin. Draco groaned inwardly. Such the little hero.

“Harry, this piece of filth is the reason you have no parents. The reason…the reason I haven’t been around to care for you for the past twelve years.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, looking like at any moment he might regret what he was going to say next.

“Harry, he might go to Voldemort,” Draco whispered. “Remember?”

Harry frowned, biting his lip.

“Or it might be someone else. As Sirius stated before, there are other Death Eaters still out there,” Atlanta reminded the room.

“We’ll take him to the castle. Give him to the dementors. You can’t kill him. My dad wouldn’t have wanted you two to become killers just for him. I don’t want you to become killers.”

Lupin and Black both lowered their wands. Draco sighed, closed his eyes till Hermione screamed in his ear and there was a flash of red. Draco’s eyes shot open, looking around. Harry was lying on the floor, stunned, along with the rat. 

“Oops,” Atlanta said, lowering her wand. “I think we can unfreeze Harry, right?”

Lupin nodded as Black leaned down and un-Petrified Harry. Sitting up, Harry rubbed his head.

“Sorry. You were in the way. Pettigrew went rat,” Black said to Harry, looking at him with concerned grey eyes. 

Lupin bent over and picked up the rat, shoving him into his pocket. He sighed and asked, “Are you sure about this Harry?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I am. Let him go to Azkaban for life,” Harry insisted. “If anyone deserves that place it is him.”

“Very well,” Lupin agreed. “Let’s go. Atlanta, we’ll speak later.”

Lupin gave her a stern look then turned to Draco. Kneeling down, he peered at Draco, his amber eyes moving back and forth. Draco found he was unable to follow.

“I think Draco has a concussion. Can you stand?” 

Draco tried and toppled sideways as the room tilted.

“Mmm, clearly not,” Lupin said, sounding businesslike. “Hermione, do you think you can levitate him?”

Hermione nodded, though she looked somewhat unsure. Lupin stood and moved over to Snape’s prone figure. After a quick study of the still knocked out man, he said, “There’s nothing that seriously wrong with him. A simple _Mobilicorpus_ should work.”

Hermione nodded, picking up her wand. She and Lupin muttered the same spell. Draco felt like there were invisible wires tied to his limbs. He drifted off the bed. He tried to control his head, but it was a bit too much work. 

“Please, don’t whack my head too much.”

Harry snorted. Draco looked over and found Black take the wand from Lupin to guide Snape, who he promptly allowed to ram into the wall. 

“Oops.”

He didn’t look sorry. 

Harry looked around the room once more, almost thinking he’d see the rat jump out of Lupin’s pocket and scurry off back towards him. When this failed to happen, he followed Hermione down the stairs. While Sirius wasn’t careful at all with Snape, Hermione was very careful while guiding Draco along. Draco began to talk, about nothing in general, mostly to keep himself awake. Only Atlanta attempted to carry on a conversation with him, keeping her almost glowing blue eyes on Professor Lupin. 

* * *

“Take Draco down first, uh…” Black trailed off when they reached the hole to the tunnel. 

“Hermione,” she reminded him, with a small smile. Sirius nodded and watched as Hermione managed to get down into the tunnel with Draco, unscathed, while Atlanta continued to babble along with him. 

“This is a strange group, Harry,” Sirius muttered, guiding Snape down with none of the care Hermione used on Draco. Snape’s head lolled around, whacking into things left and right. Once in the tunnel, Sirius made no notice of how Snape’s head kept hitting the low ceiling. 

The group walked along, the only conversation coming from Draco and Atlanta, who were discussing the merits of glow in the dark nail polish for some reason. Harry might have laughed at this, if he wasn’t somewhat uneasy about his decision.

The prediction Trelawney had made earlier in the day was weighting heavily on his mind. Especially after learning about Draco being from the future and the rat’s role in Voldemort’s return. Harry had so many questions and emotions, he had no idea where to start sorting himself out. 

He also really wanted to know who this Tom person was as he felt it was important for reasons he could not grasp at the moment. 

“You know what this means? By turning Pettigrew in?”

Harry stared at the back of Sirius’s head.

“You’re free?”

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed. “If I had done what I’d planned…well, I’d just be chucked back in Azkaban, though this time I’d be guilty.”

“I’m glad you’re not going back,” Harry said quietly.

“Oh, right. I guess Draco told you then, right?”

“Yeah, back when I met him,” Harry admitted. “He’s been convinced since then you were innocent, yet had no idea how to prove the point. Well, actually, I guess he knew you were innocent and had no idea how to tell me without saying he was from the future.”

“Yeah, I guess that might be an issue. Do you know what it means that I’m your godfather?” When Harry didn’t say anything right away, Sirius went on. “Your parents appointed me your guardian if anything were to happen to them. It was uncertain times, so it was clearly stated in their will. So, after my name gets cleared up, if you want…we could…well, I could offer you…a different home?”

Harry tripped over his own feet. An explosion was going on in his stomach, in his head, in his fingers, in before his eyes. All his previous troubles whooshed out of his head. 

“Live with you? Do you have a house? When I can I move in?”

Sirius looked over his shoulder, looking rather taken aback. 

“You would leave your family just like that?”

“Are you insane?” Harry asked, wanting to rip his own hair out in frustration. “I hate the Dursleys! They are horrible to me! They locked me in a cupboard for ten years of my life!”

Black looked outraged, Snape’s head ramming into the ceiling. 

“I have a room now, but I still hate it there! I blew up my aunt last summer!”

“Lily’s sister did hate magic. And her husband was the worst,” Sirius remembered. “But you mean it? You want to live with me? You’d…take me as your guardian over your family?”

“ARE YOU KIDDING!” Harry shouted, which prompted Draco and Atlanta to stop jabbering. Hermione almost tripped, causing Draco to fly into the ceiling.

“Bloody hell, Granger! Do you want to kill me?” Draco demanded.

“No! Sorry!”

Harry, though, missed the rest of the argument, as he was looking at Sirius. His gaunt face broke into a smile, the first true smile Harry had ever seen on the man since meeting him. It made him look much younger and more like the man in the photos Aunt Narcissa had shown Harry.

“CRAP!” Atlanta shouted loudly as they were coming up on the exit to the tunnel. She scampered away and out of the hole after Lupin. 

“What?” Draco asked.

“I KNOW! I KNOW!” Atlanta shouted from outside. “DAD!”

Sirius froze. Harry ran into him. 

“Did she just yell for her dad?” Hermione asked, looking confused. 

“Stay here!” Sirius shouted, dropping Snape and darting around the other two.

Hermione gasped, causing Draco to hit the ceiling a few more times. Harry darted under Draco as he hit the ceiling a third time and followed Sirius. He hurried away from the tree before the tree could attack, diving to make it as the tree began to crack and creak. Picking up his head, Harry saw Lupin was standing on the grounds, near the forest, totally rigid. Atlanta was frozen near by, her blue-amber eyes loosing that creepy glowing quality now that she was bathed in moonlight. She seemed unable to move. Watching in horror, Harry saw Lupin’s limbs elongate, his whole body withering. He let out a cry, which was riddle with pain. Harry could hear the bones cracking. 

He wanted to throw up. 

Atlanta didn’t move.

“Harry!” Hermione shouted from the tree. 

“Move!” Sirius shouted, running at Atlanta. 

“Stay in the tree! Shut the door!” Harry shouted, looking at the hole. Hermione quickly slammed the lid shut on the hole. 

“He took his potion,” Atlanta reminded Sirius. “He’s safe!”

Lupins robes ripped, clothing shards flying everywhere. Anything in Lupin’s pockets flew out, scattering all over the place by the force of his transformation. Harry watched, transfixed as Lupin’s head formed into a wolf’s skull and his shoulders began to round. He fell to the ground, twitching. 

Still, Atlanta did not move.

Sirius morphed into his dog form, launching himself forward. Atlanta moved right before Sirius would have tackled her with such practice grace and agility it was like she was an animal. Her eyes never left Lupin, who was now a furry, hairy werewolf, panting in a heap on the grass. Slowly, the wolf and dog got onto their paws and stood up. The wolf sniffed and began snapping its jaw. Sirius jumped on the wolf and knocked it over, distracting it from whatever was going on. The wolf reared and something happened. Sirius fell to the ground in a heap and cocked his doggy head at the wolf. 

Atlanta took this moment to dark forward, roll on the ground and took off at high speed for the castle.  

“RUN!” Atlanta shouted as she sprinted off into the darkness.

Cold washed over Harry, freezing his insides. Slowly, Harry turned towards the forest. Both the wolf and dog were frozen, backing up as the dementors made their way towards them. Sirius morphed into human form, running back at Harry. 

The rat. Where was the rat? 

“RUN! NOW!”

Not knowing where to go, Harry took off in a random direction. The dementors were closing in, paying no heed to the huge werewolf who was snapping at their robes. 

“Move, move, move,” Black muttered, as he crashed through the underbrush pushing Harry forward.    

They ran for it, not knowing which way to go or why the dementors were so far into the grounds in the first place. They ran till they reached the lake shore. Harry whirled around and found at least a hundred dementors floating toward them. Black, collapsed, muttering, “No, no, no, no, no.”

“Think happy thoughts!” Harry urged, pushing his own fears aside and trying to think of something happy. 

_He was going to live with Sirius. He would leave the Durlseys._

If they found the rat. Hopefully the potion had worked and the wolf didn’t eat the rat. 

That would be bad. 

“ _Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!”_ Harry shouted, keeping thoughts of Sirius in the front of his mind.

Sirius gave a shudder and fell silent

They couldn’t die. They had to find the rat.

“ _Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!”_ Harry shouted, but nothing was coming out of his wand except a faint mist.

The screaming in Harry’s head got louder. He kept shouting till he was hoarse and the dementors were way too close. 

He was alone. 

And clearly not happy enough. 

“He’s innocent,” Harry gasped. “No, no…”

The dementors were closer to him now than they’d ever been. His mother’s horrifying screams filled his ears, but he forced his eyes to remain open, trying to get something to come out of his wand.

Nothing came.

A dead, slimy hand slid out of the death robes, shooting towards Harry. He tried to move, but found he was unable to, their rattling breath filling his ears over the sounds of his mother dying. Then, it lowered it hood.

The screaming stopped.

Harry gaped at the sight. There were no eyes, just rotting, grey, scabbed flesh. And what looked like a gaping hole where a mouth ought to be located. The rattling breath got louder and louder. 

He was going to have his soul sucked from him. 

Harry fell backwards as a blinding white fog suddenly appeared. The dementor broke away and suddenly they were gone. Harry picked himself up, trying to see what had driven the dementors way. Sirius was out cold. There was no one around, but the air was warming up. The dementors were gone. Then, Harry saw something. It was bright white and oozed light. He watched the thing that looked like a deer only bigger, gallop around the lake, coming to a stop on the opposite shore. Blinking, Harry noticed someone who looked familiar standing there, lowering his wand.

Then everything went black. 


	24. Shocking Business. Shocking.

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

“Shocking business. Shocking.”

“Very much indeed, Minister,” simpered a familiar voice. 

Snape. 

“Order of Merlin, Second Class. If I can swing it, First class!”

“Thank you, Minister.” 

Someone huffed very close by.  

“What happened to your head again? Nasty gash there. Did Black do that?”

“No. Potter, Malfoy and Granger, Minister,” Snape said, sounding rather testy. 

“No. That can’t be right. Why would they do that? You were there to save them from Black!”

“Confused no doubt. Confundus Charm, judging by their irrational behavior.” A deep, regretful sigh. “They weren’t responsible for their actions, regretfully. I don’t know why Potter believed he could catch Black without the aid of an adult. His time here at school has allowed him to get a rather high opinion of himself and he drags Granger and Malfoy along. The headmaster always allows Potter an extraordinary amount of leeway with the rules, Minister.”

“Ah, well, Snape, we’re all a bit blind when it comes to Harry Potter.”

Snap snorted loudly and Harry’s eyes shot open. He felt groggy and everything was blurry—  like things were before he had his eyes fixed three years ago. Blinking several times, things began to get clearer. He was in the hospital wing. The sky was inky dark and the moonlight was bright. Harry continued to stare upside down out the window above his head as the two voices continued to speak off to his right.

“Why is Potter given so much special treatment? He’s just an ordinary boy. I try to treat him as ordinary, but at every corner I’m prevented. Any other student would be suspended, at the very least, for his or her actions tonight, yet, Minister, because it’s Potter we will make all these allowances?”

Another annoyed huff from close by. 

“Ah, well, well…” 

Harry cast his eyes away from the window and attempted to sit up. His limbs felt like they were made of lead. It was like he was under a body bind curse. He attempted to turn his head towards the huff, but his head didn’t want to move at the moment. 

It seemed his eyes were the only bit of him that could move. 

“He’s been undoubtable foolish, but, he’s Harry Potter. What really gets me is the behavior of the dementors,” the first voice said, sounding confused. “You’ve really no idea what made them back off?”

“No, Minister. I wasn’t conscious for that part. By the time I came around, the dementors were back at their spots at the entrances.”

“And, yet…Black…Harry?”

“Unconscious.”

“Malfoy?”

“I believe Draco was hit on the head at some point, as I was under the impression he was unable to stand without blacking out.”  

“No doubt lending to his mass confusion.”

“True.”

“And, uh, the girl? There was another one right?”

“Yes. Granger. Confounded— though it must have been wearing off as she did come to the castle to get help when Potter and Black vanished.”

“And the Black girl?”

“What about her?”

“Well, Black seemed to think she was there. Altair’s girl,” the minister said. “Do you think she was helping Black? They are related, distantly? I knew that family was trouble. No matter what side of the pond they’re on.” 

“She was not there.” There was finality to that statement. “I will admit, Malfoy did have a rat, but it didn’t move. I’m sure it was dead. No doubt part of his injuries and the Confundus Charm, he thought it was Pettigrew. And alive.”

Harry wiggled his fingers. Success at movement besides his eyes!

The person to his left huffed again. 

Harry wiggled his toes, feeling suddenly entering them. He tried to turn his head. Slowly, he took in the sights of the Hospital Wing to his left.  Madam Pomfrey was tending to a stock of white blond hair— Draco no doubt. Moving his head further he noticed Hermione, moonlight drenching her and making her look like she had a spotlight casting over her. She was sitting up, arms folded tightly across her chest with a ticked off look upon her face. Noticing Harry, she pressed her finger to her lips. Harry nodded. He turned his head ever so slowly in the opposite direction and noticed the hospital door ajar. That must be where Snape and the Minister were standing having their conversation.

“Have you spoke to Black yet?” Snape asked the minister.

“No, Dumbledore insisted on speaking to him before he allowed me near the man,” bristled the Minister.

“Is he still claiming his innocence?” Snape drawled. “He was rather insistent when I came upon them he was innocent.” 

The Minister didn’t respond. Or if he did they did not hear it, as Madam Pomfrey noticed Harry was awake.

“You’re awake! Good, eat this,” she ordered, swiftly moving Harry into a sitting position and handing him a large ball of chocolate. She whirled around and noticed Hermione.

“Oh, calm down,” she chided, tucking Hermione tighter into the bed. 

Hermione glowered. “I have not been Confounded. I do not need to be here.” 

“This looks like a small bolder,” Harry croaked out. His throat felt raw like someone had force fed him sand. He coughed a few times, but it didn’t help. 

“You’ve had quite a shock to your system,” Madam Pomfrey explained, turning back to Harry. “Now eat up. All of it.”

Harry took a large bite, swinging his feet over the side the bed.

“Potter, where do you think you’re going?” Madam Pomfrey demanded, putting her hands on her hips for a moment. “You are not leaving this ward.”

“I need to see the headmaster,” Harry insisted, lowering himself to the ground and testing his legs.

They worked. 

“Potter, it’s all right,” Madam Pomfrey soothed, placing her hands on Harry’s shoulders and trying to push him back to bed. “They’ve got Black locked up somewhere upstairs and the Minister has called for the dementors to come up and perform the Kiss at any moment.”

“WHAT?” 

Harry used his Quidditch reflexes and rolled out of Madam Pomfrey’s hold and landed on the ground. Instantly he was on his feet, along with Hermione who managed to escape the confines of her sheets. Only Draco hadn’t moved, which might have been due to the fact he was unconscious. 

Harry turned to run into the hallway, but he didn’t make it past the bed before the door banged open and the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge himself, and Professor Snape entered the ward. The Minister looked agitated, while the Professor looked rather proud of himself. 

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Fudge asked, looking between the three standing people in front of him. 

Harry jumped out of Madam Pomfrey’s reach and said, “Minister, please, you must listen to us! Sirius Black is innocent. Peter Pettigrew faked his own death and pretended to be a rat for twelve years! We saw him tonight!”

Instead of being shocked and jumping into action, the Minister sighed deeply.

“Effects of the Confudus Charm, right?” the Minister asked. Snape nodded, a faux grave look on his face. 

“I AM NOT CONFUSED. YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG MAN!”

“Minister, please, listen,” Hermione begged, trying to grab Harry to calm him down before he began throwing things. “Pettigrew is an Animagus. He can turn into a rat. We need to go find the rat! It’s on the grounds somewhere.”

“I gathered up everything,” Snape said evenly. “I found no rat.”

Harry and Hermione both looked at one another with wide eyes. 

“There has to be a rat! Peter Pettigrew is the RAT! The RAT IS PARAMOUNT! He betrayed my parents! He set Sirius up to take the fall for the whole thing! Peter Pettigrew killed all those Muggles and faked his own death! Just so the Death Eaters wouldn’t get him for sending Voldemort to his…demise!”

The Minister jerked at the sound of Voldemort’s name. Snape’s only reaction was to give Harry a mocking look of pity. 

“You see, Minister, Confunded, both of them. Black’s done a very good job on them. How can a dead man be a rat?”

“NOT CONFUNDED HERE!” Harry roared, ripping his arm out of Hermione’s grasp. 

“Minister! Professor! I must insist you get out of here! You are upsetting the patients and they are now distressed.”

“I’m not distressed! I’m trying to tell the truth!” Harry shouted, jumping away from Madam Pomfrey, who huffed at him in frustration. She came at him again, but instead of trying to shove him into bed, Madam Pomfrey instead shut Harry up by shoving a large amount of chocolate into his mouth. She kept her hand over his mouth and glared at him. 

“Chew.”

Harry began to chew. 

“Now, these children need care and I’d like you two to leave. You’re—”

The doors banged open again, this time admitted Professor Dumbledore. Harry chewed faster and managed to swallow his huge mouthful of chocolate before Dumbledore reached the Minister and Snape. 

“Professor Dumbledore! Sirius Black—“

“For heaven’s sake! This is not social hour!” Madam Pomfrey shouted, sounding near hysterical. “These children have been confounded! Dementors! And— Miss Black are you ill?” 

“My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, clam radiated from him in leaps and bounds. “I’ve been speaking to Sirius Black.”

“Did he feed you that same tall tale he’s planted in Potter’s mind?” Snape snapped. “Something about a rat and Pettigrew still being alive?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed. “That is his story. He’s told it to me, he’s told it to Amelia Bones as well as Finius.”

Harry noticed Fudge paled. “Amelia Bones is here?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said. “It seems at some point Miss Black wrote her a letter.”

Fudge quickly paled further. Atlanta, meanwhile, looked like she was suffering from the effects of a Confundus Charm. Harry had never seen her look so bewildered or ruffled before. It looked like she’d been dragged out of bed. Her hair was mussed from sleeping, her eyes were somewhat glazed and she rubbed them and yawned several times. She was still wearing the odd outfit she’d had on earlier, only she wasn’t dirty. After her trip through the tunnel and that stunt she pulled on the lawn, she ought to be dirty.  

“What? How does Black’s tall tale rate above the truth of what happened tonight? He’s a convicted murderer and traitor!” Snape snarled. “I never saw Peter Pettigrew at the Shirking Shake or on these grounds.”

“Yes, you did! He was that rat Draco had!” Harry shouted. “He found him in Hargrid’s—” 

“You were knocked out by the time Pettigrew was forced to show himself! And you missed the first part of the story—” Hermione tried. 

“Miss Granger, hold your tongue,” Snape snapped, showing off his ugly yellowing teeth. 

“Now, Snape, the young lady is Confunded. We must make allowances,” the Minister said, trying to sound a combination of forgiving and jolly.

“Would you two mind stepping out. I must speak with the children.”

“I’ll take Black with me. It looks like she doesn’t know why she’s here,” Snape offered, moving to grab Atlanta.

“You got the rat!” Harry shouted at her, realizing that was what she must have dove for on the lawn. “Where is he?”

Atlanta looked at Harry like he was insane. Snape snorted. 

“Miss Black was not at the Shirking Shack,” Snape drawled.

“Severus, Cornelius, please leave us. Poppy, you too,” Dumbledore said.

“Headmaster! They need treatment! Rest! And I think there is something wrong with Miss Black.”

This was true. She looked extremely befuddled and ruffled her hair, frowning as she looked between Harry and Hermione. She rubbed her right arm again and cocked her head to the side.  Her eyes went unfocused for a moment and she yawned again. 

“This cannot wait,” Dumbledore said, suddenly radiating authority. Madam Pomfrey sputtered. “I must insist.”

Pursing her lips tightly, Madam Pomfrey charged off towards her office, slamming the door behind her. Fudge fidgeted a few moments before sighing. 

“Well, the dementors should be here shortly. I guess I’ll go meet them. Hopefully, Amelia will see through Black’s far fetch lies,” Fudge muttered. “I’d like this business to just be over with. Black’s caused me enough headaches for a century.” 

Harry watched as Fudge walked to the door and fling the door open. He stepped through and held it open, looking at Snape. Snape didn’t follow. His dark eyes were locked on the Headmaster.

“You don’t believe Black, do you?” Snape whispered.

Dumbledore did not answer him. 

“Sirius Black showed at the age of sixteen he was capable of murder,” Snape reminded the headmaster in a low hiss of a whisper. “You haven’t forgotten that, have you? He tried to kill me.”

“My memory is perfect, Severus,” Dumbledore quietly admitted. “Please. Go with the Minister and meet the dementors.”

Snape grabbed Atlanta by the arm and attempted to take her away, but Dumbledore grabbed her other arm, giving Snape a pointed look. They both dropped their grip on Atlanta at the same time, who swayed back and forth, glaring at Snape. Snape made a rather ugly noise, turned on his heel and strode out of the hospital wing. As soon as the door closed, Dumbledore turned to Harry and Hermione, who both erupted in explanations, overlapping one another in their haste to get their story out. Dumbledore beckoned Atlanta forward. She slowly walked over to the end of Harry’s bed and sat down, looking more out of place and confused. Harry was sure she muttered a few times she must be dreaming. 

Dumbledore held up his hand. “Silence. It’s your turn to listen to me. Do not interrupt me because we have very little time. The word of three teenage wizards is not anything an adult will likely take to heart. We need the evidence to support your claims and Sirius’ claims. Also, unfortunately, this Atlanta doesn’t know anything.”

Hermione looked confused, but didn’t say anything, simply stared at Atlanta who shrugged and rubbed her eyes. She blinked hard a few times. She sighed deeply, casting her eyes to the ground and scratched her arm. 

“Professor Lupin can tell you—” Harry began, but stopped quickly. 

“We both know that Professor Lupin is in no shape to talk to anyone at the moment. He’s also good friends with Sirius and that will not work in his favor. Nor the fact he’s a werewolf. Werewolves are deeply mistrusted by our kind.”

Atlanta snorted.

Harry opened his mouth to speak again, but Dumbledore held his hand up.

“Listen to me, Harry. It’s too late to do anything right now. Professor Snape’s version of events has convinced Fudge to administer the Kiss without bothering to speak to Madam Bones. It is unlikely Madam Bones will be able to do anything before this happens, unless we get more time.”

“We need more time,” Hermione faintly said, then looked at Atlanta. “Atlanta doesn’t know anything.”

“Snape hates Sirius. All because of that stupid prank he pulled. Was it even a prank?” Harry demanded.

“Sirius has not acted like an innocent man. He broke into the school, attacking the Fat Lady and Mr Weasley,” Dumbledore softly reminded Harry. 

“Because the rat belonged to Weasley! Do you think the rat unfroze itself? We stunned it. Where is the rat? Did Professor Lupin eat it? Why can’t we just go outside and look now?”

“OH!” Hermione suddenly shouted, leaping up from where she’d sat down on her bed to think. “But…”

“You’re on the right track, Miss Granger. Pay attention. Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick’s office so he can speak to Amelia Bones, the department head of the Magical Law Department.” He told this to Atlanta. He turned to Harry and Hermione. “If all goes as planned, more than one life will be saved tonight. And three lives can be changed.”

Dumbledore gave Harry and Hermione a pointed look, while Atlanta looked like she thought Dumbledore had lost what little sanity he had. Hermione began fumbling with something around her neck. 

“You need to go now.”

Dumbledore strode towards the door. Before he reached the door he turned around and gave the three teenagers a pointed look. 

“I will lock you in here. It is,” he paused to consult his watch, “five minutes to midnight. Three turns maybe? Best of luck and remember, you must not be seen.”

“Best not be seen?” Harry faintly asked, turning to find Hermione holding a very long, very fine gold chain out. “Oh! Brilliant!” 

Harry darted over to Hermione as she pulled out what must be the Time Turner. 

“Atlanta, come here. Quick.”

“Is that a Time Turner?” Atlanta asked. She suddenly looked much more awake. 

Hermione gave a quick nod. She grabbed Harry and pulled him close to her, as Atlanta was already standing at her shoulder. She threw the chain around his and Atlanta’s necks. 

“Ready?” she asked breathlessly.

Harry reached up to touch the tiny hour glass, only to get smacked in the hand. 

“Don’t touch it,” Hermione scolded.

Hermione began to turn it as Atlanta laughed. The dark ward began to dissolve around them and the background moved. Looking around, Harry saw things blur all around him, moving backwards. His ears pounded with noise and he tried to yell and scream to demand what was going on, but his voice wouldn’t come out. 


	25. Timey Wimey

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Suddenly, the ground was solid again, Harry’s voice popped out in an angry shout and Atlanta was still laughing.

“Hush,” Hermione chided both of them, moving to remove the chain from around their necks. She stuffed the object down her robes again. 

Atlanta instantly fell silent. Harry rubbed his hand. 

“Now what?” Hermione asked.

“This way,” Atlanta whispered. “I know the perfect place to hide.”

Atlanta scampered off down the down sunlight drenched ward towards the door. She opened the door and darted out. Harry was grabbed by Hermione and dragged after Atlanta.

“When are we?” Harry whispered, looking over his shoulder to find the ward empty. 

“Earlier this evening. Dinner time,” Hermione whispered as she reached the broom closet Atlanta was holding the door open for. She yanked Harry into the closet and the door shut with a quiet click. 

“It all makes sense now.” Atlanta shook her head a few times, rolling her eyes, which were slightly glowing a faint blue somehow in the dark. 

“Why are your eyes glowing?” Hermione asked.

“Trick of the light,” Atlanta said blithely. “How much time did we go back?”

“I think almost six hours?” Hermione guessed. “I think I overturned. I was nervous.”

Atlanta pulled up her sleeve of her jacket to reveal a rather complex looking watch. She cocked her head to the side a few times and said, “Well, this Muggle watch turned itself back. It’s almost seven-thirty. What were you doing at seven thirty?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “I thought time travel wasn’t so normal? Why aren’t you shocked?”

“That’s a Time Turner,” Atlanta said to Harry as if he were stupid. “It takes you back in time in small increments. Hey! That’s how you’ve been doing your lessons this year! And randomly turning up!”

Hermione nodded. “Professor Flickwick gave it to me at the start of term. He made me swear not to tell anyone. So, you mustn’t tell.”

“But, Harry knew. He wasn’t surprised you had it.”

“He and Draco guessed,” Hermione admitted.

“Brilliant! Well, except you kind of went mental,” Atlanta said. 

Hermione smacked her. “Hush. What I don’t understand is why Dumbledore wanted us to go back in time. Well, other than it was clear by your reactions you _weren’t_ with us tonight.”

Atlanta shook her head, looking grim.

“So, how is having a present version of Atlanta going to help us save Sirius?” Harry asked. 

Hermione sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

“Okay. We know that this Atlanta didn’t go with us, so she is the Atlanta that shows up after Snape shows himself.” Hermione nodded. “I know we have to find that rat and we find it by the time Snape wakes up as he claimed to not have found a rat.” 

“I’m not supposed to be seen by Snape. Dumbledore told me that. Oh! He gave me this too.”

Atlanta reached her hand into the pocket of her coat. Harry quickly realized it was a coat with the never ending pockets, as her arm went in deep and he could hear things moving around. She extracted a silver flask and held it up.

“For some unknown reason he handed this to me and told me to make sure Remus gets it.”

Hermione gasped. “Oh! Harry! Remember! Three lives can be changed! If Professor Lupin doesn’t get that, he’ll change into a full fledge werewolf.”

“Why do I have his Wolfsbane potion?” Atlanta asked, looking panicked. 

“He doesn’t take it! Remember what Snape said!” Hermione exclaimed. “He left it in the office!”

Harry’s head hurt. He took a deep breath. “Okay. So, this Atlanta is the one that shows up in the Shack after Snape shows himself. Okay. Got it.”

“What else did Atlanta do?” Hermione pressed. She was looking at Harry in a strange manner, like she was trying to trying to communicate something to him. 

“OH! She’s got the rat! That’s why she was acting funny when Lupin changed! And Snape why didn’t find it when he picked up the things Lupin dropped!”

“Huh?” Atlanta asked, looking very confused. 

“You’ll understand later,” Hermione insisted, flapping her hand at him. “He said three lives.”

“Okay. So we’ve got Sirius, Lupin and…what are we doing right now?”

“We’re in the cupboard,” Hermione automatically reminded him. “Honestly, Harry.”

“No, our, well, the other selves. What were we doing…at seven-thirty?” As he uttered those words, it hit him. “We’re going to see Hagrid!”

Hermione’s eyes went large and Atlanta suddenly knocked something over. Hermione’s hands shot out and covered both their mouths. Outside the door they heard someone asked, “Did you hear that?”

The three stood in silence for a full five minutes before Hermione lowered her hands. 

“That was Draco and myself,” Hermione admitted. “I heard that, but brushed it off.”

“Okay, so we’re going to see Hagrid. What are you doing?” Harry asked, looking at Atlanta. 

“I spent the evening in the Common Room with Ginny. She was waiting for you to return. She guessed you were going to see Hagrid before Buckbeak was executed,” Atlanta said. “Only, you never returned.” 

“We have to save Buckbeak!” Harry shouted, jumping up and down. 

“Shhhh!” Hermione hissed. She frowned before saying, “We can’t be seen. How can we save Buckbeak?”

“Where is Flickwick’s office?” Harry suddenly asked, remember the fact Dumbledore had said Sirius was locked in the professor’s office.

“It’s on like the thirteenth floor of some tower,” Atlanta said. “Wait, Buckbeak flies, right?”

“Yeah! We can fly up and spring Sirius!”

“But the rat!” Hermione hissed. “That paramount rat you and Draco have been going about for months. That will free Sirius!” 

“Okay, wait a second. I’m totally behind in all this. You need to tell me the four-one-one,” Atlanta insisted.

Hermione and Harry both blinked at her. 

“What is going on? Sirius Black is innocent? You two drink the same kool-aid as Draco finally?”

“Harry, she doesn’t know! Oh, we don’t have time for this.” Hermione grabbed at her hair. 

“Just give me the basics. Or, I’ll tell you what I got. Dumbledore showed up and woke me up. He told me to go get my TARDIS coat — which was just bizarre as no one knows what I’m talking about when I call it that, so how the hell did he know— and handed me the flask, telling me to get it to Remus. He lead me off, without telling me what the hell he was doing. We met Snape levitating Harry, Draco and Sirius Black. Flickwick showed up and said he’d take Black, then winked at me. Dumbledore told Snape to contact Fudge, took control the two dead to the world boys and stuck me in this cupboard on his way to the Hospital Wing. Then, I fell back asleep till he dragged me out and handed me off to you guys.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, her brown eyes boring into nothingness as she thought deep thoughts. 

“Okay, Dumbledore only wanted us to go back three hours, which would put us at Hagrid’s already. But we went back further than needed on accident, so we can easily follow us down there and wait. It won’t take three people…” Hermione’s eyes darted over to Atlanta. “Where were you all night?”

“I told you, in the Common Room. In the usual corner. With Ginny, waiting for you lot to show up with news on Buckbeak.”

“So, you have freedom to roam the castle,” Hermione muttered.

Atlanta stood up straighter suddenly, looming over Hermione and Harry. Like Draco, she was getting taller daily. 

“Oh,” Atlanta said, realization dawning on her. “Harry, where did you loose the rat?”

“You dove at something on the lawn after Lupin transformed. I _think_ you got the rat after it exploded out of Lupin’s pocket, but I could be wrong. Lupin last had the rat.” 

“What time did I show up…wherever?”

“The Shirking Shack. There’s a tunnel under the Whomping Willow,” Harry filled in. 

“You said you’d gone to Lupin’s office, saw the goblet and caught him on the Marauder’s Map vanishing down the tunnel under the Whomping Willow,” Hermione explained. “You clearly didn’t, as you’ve already got the potion.”

“Okay. So, I don’t need to nip down there, then. How do I get passed the misanthropic tree?”

“There’s a knot you have to hit. Find a long stick.” 

“Remember Fudge’s face when Dumbledore mentions that Bones woman?” Harry asked. 

Hermione nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know who she is, though.”

“I think it was another hint. And Flickwick’s office. Why would they even lock him in there?”

Atlanta nodded, her eyes bright. At least Harry hoped they were just bright and not glowing again. “I think I kind of know what I have to do. Aunt Narcissa has been keeping company with Madam Bones recently and Aunt Narcissa has poking around in Sirius Black’s case according to my father.”

“She has?” Harry asked. “I know she thought something was fishy about the whole thing, but I didn’t know she was doing anything.”

Atlanta shrugged elegantly. “Well, I know what I should be doing. I’ll see you two in the future.”

Without a further word, Atlanta slipped out of the cupboard. Harry listened to the sound of her leather sandals hit the stone floor till they faded. 

“Ready to go follow ourselves?” Harry asked, looking at Hermione.

She sighed deeply. “What is our plan?”

“Free Buckbeak. Then, figure out who saved me and Sirius from the dementors,” Harry said, opening the door and poking his head out. “Then we’ll figure out why we need to go to Flickwick’s office.”

“Do you even know where it is?”

“Atlanta said the thirteenth floor of the tower.”

“Harry, there are at least five different towers, with three of them being taller than thirteen floors.”

Harry sagged. 

“Harry, I think that bit was for Atlanta only. Like where she was supposed to take the rat after she got it? He winked at her.” 

“You’re right. Let’s assume she got the rat and took it to…why would she take it to him?” Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. “No one is allowed to change time, but she’d already been sent back with us in time. It’s how it’s always worked out.”

“How can no one be allowed to change time? What about Draco? He clearly came back in time, de-aged himself and is changing things left and right.”

Harry hadn’t meant to snap at Hermione, but it was clear she had known Draco was a time traveller.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you. One, you’d likely not believe me as you didn’t when Draco told you first year. I’m sorry,” Hermione apologized, wringing her hands together. “Per wizarding law, no one is allowed to change time. Per Draco, he can try all he wants to change time if she will let him.”

“Time is a girl?”

“A mad woman in a box,” Hermione sighed. “Harry, I really do not have time to explain this. It took me two years to figure it out.”

Harry shifted uneasily. 

“Fine. We’ll talk about Draco, time and the universe after we save Buckbeak. Easy peasy.”

Harry opened the door and the pair carefully made their way to the entrance hall. 

* * *

Amelia Bones was at work late. She’d been working late nights ever since she’d taken lunch with Narcissa Malfoy.

She had only taken said lunch out of curiosity. 

Now she half wished she hadn’t taken the lunch. 

Doubt was a horrible thing, but doubt with logic behind it was much worse. And what Narcissa Malfoy put behind her requests was logic, not money, so Amelia had to respect her. The fact what Narcissa Malfoy was requesting and the reasoning for it made sense was a different story. 

Amelia shook her head, clearing it out and refocused on what she was doing. Because Narcissa had no solid evidence for her current belief that Sirius Black was innocent other than some solid logic, Amelia had been pouring over Black’s files for months.

There was not much in his files.

He’d been given no trial. 

Never been given Truth Serum. 

Never actually asked any questions. They’d deemed him crazy because he would not stop laughing and went away easily. Never bothered to protest.

It was as if he felt he deserved to be in Azkaban.

Just as Narcissa had suggested. Her reasoning behind his guilt also was quite in character with Sirius Black, so Amelia was apt to believe Narcissa wasn’t simply trying to get Sirius Black out of jail because he was the last male Black alive and she wanted the Blacks to reclaim their former glory. 

No, no there was much more behind her quest to get her estranged cousin out of jail. And it had to do with Voldemort. It frightened Amelia to the core, but after hearing Narcissa’s theory and why she was doing what she was doing, Amelia had pulled (after hours) the files of the victims Narcissa had mentioned.

Each victim had been marked with the numeral seven. 

It was unsettling, but not surprising Narcissa had this information. What worried Amelia (and Narcissa) was there were more victims that had yet to be discovered. Amelia dug out all the files— every last one connected with Voldemort and his reign of terror. Together, the two women had found another one marked with the number seven. 

Dorcus Meadows. 

“What does this really mean?”

“He made six,” Narcissa had muttered.

“Horcruxes,” Amelia had hissed, disgust and fear pooling in her stomach. 

Amelia Bones was not stupid. She had lost most of her family to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Hearing that he was not dead and had created such foul objects in order to keep himself alive sickened her. 

“I know Dumbledore has at least two,” Narcissa explained. “I’m sure Harry destroyed one last summer. So there are only three others out there.”

Amelia stayed late into the night most nights trying to learn more about Tom Riddle— also known as Lord Voldemort. 

There was not much to learn about Tom Riddle tragically. She traced over the movements Lord Voldemort took when he appeared in the sixties. She hounded the Aurors for information, she hounded anyone who was active in the Ministry during Voldemort’s time for information— she did not get very far. 

So she focused on Sirius Black. 

Narcissa believed that Peter Pettigrew was alive and hiding. Amelia kept her ears open for news of short, stout, watery eyed wizards. 

She never heard anything. 

An owl, a snow white owl, suddenly flew into her office and landed in her outbox. Knitting her eyebrows together, Amelia stared. 

“How on Earth did you get down here?”

The bird simply stuck out its leg. A formal looking letter was attached. Carefully, she untied the letter and stared at it. It was indeed addressed to her. She glanced back up at the bird, who was sitting stiffly on the desk, its eyes glued to Amelia. She turned the letter over to find a wax seal she hadn’t seen in years on the back.

It was the Black family seal. 

She broke it carefully and pulled the letter out. While the envelope looked formal, the note inside as written on what Amelia was sure was Muggle paper. It had light blue lines on it. 

_Madam Bones,_

_My name is Atlanta Black, a member of the House of Black, Ancient and Proud. I’m currently a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’m writing you in regards to Sirius Black, currently an escapee of Azkaban. It has come to my attention that my distant cousin has never received a trial. I’m not really all that clear on how the British Wizarding legal system works, but in America, we tend to hold trials before we throw people into jail. Innocent until proven guilty._

_While the lack of Sirius Black getting a trail is a tragedy, the fact is I will be in possession of the man who actually did commit the crimes that Sirius Black has been imprisoned for (without a trail) for the past twelve years._

_I request your presence by eleven tonight. The Minister of Magic is currently at Hogwarts, but we both know he’s, for lack of a better word, a fool who fails to think clearly in face of bad press. I’ve written to you tonight as to prevent an innocent man from going back to prison, or worse._

_Best regards,_

_Atlanta Black_

_The House of Black, Ancient and Proud_

Amelia set the letter down for a moment to think. 

Narcissa believed it was Peter Pettigrew who ratted out the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Going through the Potter’s family and friends, Pettigrew was the only likely one to be swayed. How he faked his death, blew up the street and killed thriteen Muggles was a question Narcissa was unable to answer, but she knew Sirius Black wouldn’t betray his friends. 

“He’s loyal. Like a dog,” Narcissa had said, forgetting herself in her passion to make Amelia see her point.

Amelia had believed her, of course. It had never sat well with her that Sirius had gone bad. It made no sense, with how outspoken the man had been against the Dark Arts. 

Atlanta Black must have found Peter Pettigrew.

How a…child had found the man was a mystery, but Amelia would investigate. 

Checking her watch, she saw she had a few hours till Miss Black requested she appear at Hogwarts. She quickly composed a letter to Narcissa. 

* * *

“Where is she?”

Hermione was ringing her hands together. Buckbeak was hanging out behind them, tied to a tree branch. He occasionally nipped the leaves. 

It had been absurdly easy to steal Buckbeak away. Hermione made Harry wait till after Dumbledore, Fudge and the other guy had seen the bird before allowing him to dart in and bribe the bird to follow him with ferrets. Because they had been distracted by the fact Draco had found the rat and escaping from the adults without being seen, they did not bother to notice the extra Harry and Hermione stealing Buckbeak away from an early death. 

The adults had come out, saw the bird was MIA and the guy with the ax had a hissy fit and took his frustration out on some over sized melons Hagrid was growing. 

“At least we know what we heard chopped,” Hermione had muttered, frowning as the man took out his frustration on fruit.

Since then, they’d sat in the forest waiting.

“I want to know what we’re supposed to do with Buckbeak,” Harry said, eyeing the bird. “I mean, if we were to break Sirius out of the tower he could fly off on it and live a life on the run.”

“Harry, that is so impractical,” Hermione chided.

“Well, what are we supposed to do? We have saved him and hung out here for, almost an hour or more,” Harry complained. “Now what?” 

“Where is Atlanta? Snape is already down there. I thought she followed him,” Hermione worried, wringing her hands together. 

Harry had really wanted to grab the Cloak before Snape could get it, but Hermione had stopped him. 

“We can’t mess put the timeline from our point of view. Things must happen as they did the first time pertaining us and what we saw,” she’d reminded him for what felt like the millionth time.

Harry hated time travel. 

Suddenly Atlanta appeared around the side of the castle, streaking across the lawn heading for the tree. She came to a dead stop, just out of reach of the Willow’s striking distance. She looked around, her eyes somewhat glowing in the gathering darkness. 

Harry really needed to either get his eyes looked at or figure out how she made her eyes glow. 

“Oh, I think she saw us. Oh, we should hide,” Hermione whispered, looking around. 

“I don’t think we need to. She came with us, remember? She knows we’re from the past, or future, or whatever.”

Soon, Atlanta appeared in front of them, having somehow run over to them in record time. 

“Hey! This is so much fun!” Atlanta squealed, clapping her hands together. “I think I’ve done everything. Is Snape down there yet?”

Harry nodded, while Hermione hyperventilated. 

“Okay, can you help me find a stick?” Atlanta asked. “I didn’t have time to get to Remus’s office before or after. I was going to pick that map up— I am assuming it’s yours and the secret to your success at getting in trouble—  but writing a letter to Madam Bones took some time. What did Lupin and Snape use to get in there?”

“A stick,” Harry said. “Did Snape take it with him? He used whatever Lupin used.”

“He must have taken it with him. Help me find one.”

The three searched till Hermione found a rather long, thick stick. Atlanta took it. 

“Cheers. Even though I didn’t see them on the map, that’s my excuse, right?” Atlanta asked.

Harry nodded. 

“It feels like we’re cheating telling you this,” Hermione worried.

Atlanta shrugged. “Okay, wish me luck!”

Atlanta darted out of the forest and headed for the tree. She prodded the knot and vanished. Harry sunk to the ground. 

“And now we wait.”

Hermione chewed on her thumbnail. 

* * *

It was nearing eleven at night when he heard shouts coming from the grounds and felt the wards of the school shift. The feeling was eerily similar to the afternoon the dementors got too close to the Quidditch Pitch. Standing, he moved to the window and peered out, but something else got his attention.

Shouting from the stairs leading to his office. 

Dumbledore had an odd sense of déjà vu.

Walking to the door, he opened it to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. Tonight had been wrought with strange occurrences, which Dumbledore took in stride and with a smile for the most part. 

“Chocolate Cockroach? Lemon Drop! Acid Drop! Lemon Sherbet? Snickers! Mars Bar? Aero? Gobbstoper? Fudge? Popsicle, no that’s not candy. Gumball? Fizzing something or other. God, I don’t eat candy. Licorice whip? Jolly Rancher? Warheads? Sour Patch Kids? Smarties? Mallowbar? Jawbreaker? Toberone? Charleston Chew? Bah humbug!”

 _Oh, how I miss her old accent_ , he morned. Dumbledore was about to step forward and let her up, when she finally shouted the right password. 

“NERDS!”

The staircase began to move. He heard her footsteps clattering up the stairs and come to a stop. She looked winded, red in the face and her eyes had a faint blueish amber glow to them that Dumbledore had noticed on a few occasions. It was one of the off putting things about the girl, along with the fact she resembled Tom Riddle more and more each day. 

“Good evening, Headmaster,” Atlanta Black greeted smoothly, giving him a dazzling smile. Her whole demeanor changed as she spotted him. She straightened up, pushed her out of control black hair out of her face and held herself with the poised expected of a pureblood witch— yet kept the mischievous, crooked smile on her face.

He smiled at the sight of that familiar smile.

“Miss Black, it is after curfew and there is something that just came to my attention,” Dumbledore began, but cut off as she pulled a full size rat out of her pocket, grinning like she happened to be a cat who caught it. 

“Don’t tell them. It’s part of the plan,” she whispered loudly. Then winked.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He decided to humor her, mostly for his own amusement, as he felt whatever had entered the grounds leaving. 

“Yes. This is going to be confusing, so just bear with me.

“First, you need to go to Professor Lupin’s office and get the goblet off his desk. Then, you need to go to the Gryffindor Tower and get me. Tell me to wear my TARDIS coat. I’ll know what you’re talking about. Then, take me put me in that cupboard outside of the Hospital Wing.” 

The girl paused for breath and looked at the watch on her wrist. She lowered her sleeve back over it and plowed on. 

“When we get to the Entrance Hall, you’ll be met by Professor Snape, who will be bringing in an unconscious Sirius Black, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Professor Flitwick will take Black to his office and you’re to tell Professor Snape to go get Fudge, as he’ll need to know we’ve found his MIA prisoner.” 

Atlanta paused, scratched her right arm and cocked her head to the side. 

“Oh! Yes, right. You can’t tell me I told you this! Only give me the flask of what you find in Dad’s office, put me in the cupboard near the hospital wing. You will get me out after you speak to Sirius and take me to the hospital wing to speak to Harry and Hermione, who believe the rat is lost. Oh, and tell me to not let Professor Snape see me. I’ll figure everything else out.”

“Did you say Sirius Black?”

She twirled the rat in front of her, smiling a cheshire cat sort of smile that was quite befitting a Riddle rather than a Black. 

“I did,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows up. 

And that was Remus all the way. Dumbledore sighed. 

“Did you say…Dad’s office?” Dumbledore asked.

“Oops.”

Dumbledore smiled. “And what is the purpose of the rat?”

“This is your man. Or rat.” Atlanta turned her attention to the rat. “I think if you ask Mrs Pettigrew if she could lend you her son’s finger, you’ll find it’ll fit on this rat.” 

The fire suddenly turned green and out stepped Amelia Bones. 

“Ah, good evening Professor Dumbledore,” the woman greeted, dusting off her robes. 

“Madam Bones,” Dumbledore offered, smiling. “What do I owe this pleasure?” 

“Ah, I’m here on the matter of Sirius Black.”

“Yes, Black has been captured, I gather,” he said, glancing at Atlanta, who continued to twirl the rat around. 

Madam Bones was holding a large file and pushed her monocle up. She looked at Atlanta, frowning a little till she spotted what Atlanta was spinning in circles in her hand. “Why are you twirling a rat around?”

“This is your proof, Madam,” Atlanta happily said. “The proof I wrote to you about.” 

Atlanta had been busy tonight.

“Three lives can be changed tonight, Headmaster. Three lives.” Atlanta held up three fingers.

Dumbledore glanced out the window of his office and noticed the full moon. 

Atlanta wanted him to go to Lupin’s office and pour a potion into a flask he’d find there. Professor Snape was bringing in Sirius Black, along with Draco, Harry, and Hermione, who naturally were somewhere they shouldn’t be. Atlanta had a rat that was might have the hand missing the finger poor Mrs Pettigrew had been presented with after Sirius Black had been jailed. 

Atlanta had written to Madam Bones. 

Ah. 

The pieces all fell in place rather quickly and he sighed. Dumbledore looked at the child in front of him, still twirling the rat. He had already clearly sent this version of Atlanta back in time, so he was to do it again. While he’d rather have Sirius on the run and keep Harry safe in his Muggle relative’s home, he would figure something out. Maybe he could tell Sirius what he’d told Narcissa after first year? 

“Madam Bones, I need to attend to some matters quickly before we get down to business. I believe Miss Black can show you to where Mr Black is being held,” Dumbledore said, indicated to the girl behind him. 

“Correct,” Atlanta agreed, stepping around Dumbledore, still twirling the petrified rat. Dumbledore watched its beady eyes dart all over the place, looking terrified. 

Rats don’t look terrified. Well, normal rats. 

Shaking his head, he swept down the stairs and to Remus’s office. Sure enough, right on the desk was the smoking goblet. He conjured a flask and dumped the potion into it, glancing at the interesting map Remus had left on the desk. He’d seen glimpses of it before, and had hoped Remus would bring it back with him. Chuckling, his eyes swept over it. Then he blinked. There was an Atlanta Black in his office as well as one in the her dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. More interestingly, there was a Harry Potter and Hermione Granger near the lake, hurrying towards Hagrid’s cabin, while there was a Harry Potter next to the lake with Sirius Black. Neither dot was moving. Near the Whomping Willow was an unmoving dot called Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy while a dot labeled Hermione Granger was hurrying towards the castle. 

Straightening up, Dumbledore went to get Atlanta from the tower. 


	26. Sirius Gets Some Chocolate

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

The cold was gone, the ghosts had quieted and he no longer felt the need to scream out confessions to scare monsters away. The air around him was warm, dry and smelled of old books. 

Smells of Moony.

It’d been so long since he smelled Moony. Then, he ran away and came back to where it began and he smelled Moony everywhere. His scent had drifted through the Entrance Hall, through some of the corridors, but not near the Gryffindor Tower. It wafted through the grounds as Sirius prowled at night, but not where he expected it to be. 

Then he saw Moony.

And a child who looked oddly similar a girl he’d once known— the girl who always looked like Sirius and Moony had gotten together and had a kid, which was— in Moony’s words— absurd. 

Sirius took a deep breath again, smelling a wide array of things, but he was definitely picking something canine that was not him, yet kind of familiar. Old parchment was the most prominent smell, along with new parchment. The closest scents were of old parchment and wood, as well as something that smelled vaguely of violets, cold and dog.  

He’d smelled it when she’d appeared in the bedroom, blasting Snivellus off his feet.

The child was here. 

Eyelids fluttering, Sirius allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the light of the room. Two figures came into focus: the child and Professor Flitwick, both whom— strangely enough— looked pleased to see him. The child was smiling largely, showing off white, straight teeth. Unnaturally straight white teeth. Flat white teeth, as she seemed to lack canine teeth. 

Why did she smell like a dog? 

Oh, and what was up with those eyes? 

Staring rudely, Sirius studied the child up close. The lines of her face were classic, clean. Her eyes were rounder and larger than any Black (That was her last name, right? Hadn’t Remus called her Something Something Black?). Her lashes were long and absurdly thick. The eyes. They were a combination of a clear shade of amber Sirius had only seen on one other human (Moony) and dark blue. Her nose was straight and so perfect it was almost unnatural. Her skin was like porcelain, yet her lips were as red as blood. 

She actually looked like a doll, now that he thought about it. Well, except for the absurd smile she was wearing, which was so familiar to Sirius it made his chest hurt. 

“‘Allo!” she all but shouted at him. 

He jerked back, but her smile didn’t falter. Instead, she pulled a mirror out of her pocket and stuck it in front of her own face, turning her into a guy who looked vaguely like Sirius. Well, if Sirius had decided he wanted to stop eating for years and had had a hair cut recently. His eyes looked like they’d fallen into his skull and decided to take up residence, his cheek bones stuck out making it look like they were sharp enough to cut something. 

He hadn’t seen his own face in almost twelve years.

He thought he’d look more crazy, if he was honest. 

“I gave you a haircut,” the child went on, sounding pleased with herself. Her face popped up above the mirror, now grinning with her mouth closed. 

And again, she looked strangely familiar. Sirius was sure, when he was her age, he’d grinned at himself like that a few times in the mirror, pleased to see his perfect hair, flopping every so causally. 

Only his lips weren’t so red. Nor were anyone else’s he knew. 

He was creeped out. The dementors must have gotten to him, killed him on accident and now he was in a bizarre afterlife where the strange child would do strange things to torture him. 

Not that he felt like he was being strung up by his toenails or anything, he simply felt massively uneasy and confused, two things Sirius Black detested. 

“You looked like a ragamuffin,” she continued, lowering the mirror and stuffing it back into her coat pocket. “While some people might go for that look, I figured since this is your last stand and all you might want to appear more…Baldwin.”

“Miss Black, I doubt he’d get that reference,” Professor Flitwick said, drawing Sirius’s attention to the fact there was another human being with him. 

Who was not alarmed by the fact he was in the mists of supposed murderer Sirius Black. 

This must be some sort of limbo. 

“True,” the child sighed, standing up straight. “Most wizards don’t.”

She towered over Flitwick, biting her lower lip, looking once again like Moony.

Actually…

Why hadn’t he seen it before? He held his breath. Had Lanta had a child?

No, no. She had died before this kid was born. There was no possible way. Lanta was an orphan, too. No. They couldn’t be related. 

The fact this kid kept reminding him of people he knew was annoying him greatly. 

“Well, you look better than you did before I cut your hair. Less mental.”

She turned to her left and looked at someone else, who was in fact taller than the girl. Sirius slowly turned his head to find a formidable, proper, professional looking witch. She was similar to McGongall, but wrong at the same time.

He had no clue who she was. It’d make sense for McGonagall to be in limbo, if all these other strangers were with him he’d known, but this woman he did not know.

“Correct, Miss Black,” the woman said. Her voice was low, rich and spoke of authority. The monocle in her eye made her look like some sort of cartoon, though. 

“There ought to be cartoons,” Sirius muttered.

Each face around him fell.

“Bullocks, he is crazy,” the child sighed. “Bugger.”

“Language, Miss Black,” Flitwick scolded.

“Pardon me. Holly goblins, I totally thought he was perfectly fine. He was oh so rational in the house.” 

She knelt down again, sticking her perfectly put together face into his. She ought to be put on a stamp or something. Well, a Muggle stamp. Wizards didn’t so much use stamps. 

“You need be sane. Please, for Harry be sane.”

Harry. 

Harry Potter. 

Sirius’ eyes darted around the room, taking it in for the first time where he actual was located. It was familiar, but he wasn’t able to place it. The room was rounded, with thin windows, one of which was open, allowing the warm night air blow in, bring scents of grass and moonlight with it. He looked back at the girl, who was rummaging around in her pockets again. 

“You smell,” she said to him, yanking out a bottle of something. She looked pleased, while the other two looked baffled. Flitwick chuckled as she squirted something into her hands and came at Sirius. She shoved her hands through his hair. He closed his eyes, scrunching up his face. He was glad he was restrained— oh, wait, he wasn’t. 

Why wasn’t he tied to the chair if he was in fact in the real world? 

Did they get the rat? Did they believe his innocence?

It was creeping him out how good it felt to have hands in his clean hair. 

Wait, when did his hair get cleaned? 

“There. This was all Neville grabbed for me. I think it’s Harry’s,” the girls said, looking at the bottle. “Who thought he used hair products? His hair usually looks like a natural disaster.”

The other two snickered while the girl thrust the bottle into her pocket. Digging around she pulled out a piece of parchment that looked oddly familiar, an orange, a bag of what looked to be regular Muggle jelly beans and then a jar of something. She pocketed all this back into the pocket it’d come out of and started in the other pocket till she found what she wanted. Her eyes lit up, glowing blue in a similar manner to how Moony’s eyes glowed yellow, and she pulled out a huge bar of Honeydukes chocolate. She thrust it at Sirius.

“Here. You need this.”

Sirius reached slowly, taking the chocolate bar. He studied at it, not remembering the last time he’d had chocolate. The only noise in the room was the sound of the wrapper as it crinkled. After he got it open, he took a bite— more like a nibble. He took a few more before he realized the girl was digging around in her pockets again.

“Ah, ha!” the child proclaimed, pulling something out of her pocket with a flourish suddenly. 

It was bright orange, red and yellow. That’s all Sirius could process before she grabbed his free hand. She paused, waiting to see if he was going to jerk away. Part of his brain wanted to pull his hand out of her grasp, but the other part was screaming for physical contact. So he just looked at her with an uncomfortable look. She stared back, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

Again, with the Moony looks….

Sirius thrived during his younger years on physical contact. He lived loud, hard and spent a lot of time flopping around on people. He spoke through his actions easier than words, so he left his wrist in her warm hand. His eyes trail down to where her fingers were on his wasted wrist. He was so thin, and her fingers were so slim and long (almost comically so), she could touch her fingers together. Due their insane length, she could overlap her fingers if need be. She turned his hand so the bottom of his wrist was facing upwards, where the blue veins protruded. He watched her take a violently green finger nail and trace the veins a moment before she slipped something onto his wrist.

“What is that?” he croaked after he’s swallowed the chocolate in his mouth. 

“I’ve been carrying that around for, well, like ever. It’s yours,” she said, almost like he was stupid to even ask her why she’d just put a bunch of rope around his wrist. “It’s got some protection charms in it, to ease…nightmares and such. I got it at this shop on back home, in New York City. Mom likes it for its selection of Portions things. I believe this was dipped in some Dreamless Sleep potion, as well as this Native American potion that catches nightmares. It is like a dream catcher, only one you wear on your wrist.” 

The girl suddenly straightened up, looking like an alert dog. Sirius was sure the hair on her head suddenly stood up taller. She look a deep breath through her nose, gave Sirius’s wrist a squeeze.

“That’ll be Dumbledore.”

Her whole body relaxed, unnoticed by the other two as at that moment the door quietly opened and in stepped Professor Dumbledore. He looked serene, which struck Sirius as strange. His blue eyes twinkled behind his half moon glasses. 

“Ah, he’s awake. Very good, very good. Ah, Miss Black, you’re here.”

“I had to fix his hair. I’ll scamper off if you want. Did you send Professor Snape to collect the Minister where every you stored him?” the girl asked, rocking a bit back and forth. Sirius looked down to find she was wearing a pair of sandals that looked kind of like the ones you’d find an ancient Greek wearing. 

He blinked several times, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. 

The girl let go of his wrist at some point and now it was cold. He stared at the bracelet, realizing it was woven together with dyed hemp. There was also a small dog charm— a black dog. 

“Indeed. I just put you in the cupboard,” Dumbledore said with a smile.

If this statement was found to be strange by either other person in the room, they failed to show it. 

“Brilliant!” the child exclaimed. “I’ll likely see you later, Mr Black! Ta!”

And she left, leaving the door open. The four adults listened to the clattering of her leather shoes as she seemingly skipped off. Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh and started suddenly. 

“Mr Pettigrew, fancy seeing you here,” Dumbledore said, not appearing surprised. In fact he looked sad.  

Sirius turned his head fully to the left and found, next to the woman he still did not know, Peter Pettigrew sitting, whimpering quietly under the steely glare coming from Dumbledore. 

“It seems Miss Black’s need to muddle with time has played in your favor, Mr Black,” Dumbledore said, turning his head towards Sirius. “But then again, it would seem Miss Black is prone to time travel.” 

Dumbledore waved his wand, producing a chintz chair. He said down slowly, arranging his purple robes around him. He looked up expectantly at Black. “Start at the beginning, please. Any detail, no matter how mundane is needed.” 

* * *

An hour passed.

“We were down there a long time,” Hermione commented, finally giving up on gnawing her thumb off. “I have a question, though.”

Harry made a loud hum in his throat. He was going nuts, just sitting here, waiting. 

“Who saved you from the dementors?”

“I…I don’t know,” Harry lied.

He’d been thinking about what he’d seen off and on since everyone was in place at the Shirking Shack. He didn’t want to voice his conclusions, as they were somewhat silly. And highly unlikely. 

“You saw something, right?”

“Yeah...”

“Before you woke up, Snape said who ever produced the Protronus must have been powerful, as from the…state of you and Sirius when he found you…it had to have been strong.”

“I did see someone. Or I think I did,” Harry offered. 

“Who was it? A teacher?”

“No.”

“Who Harry?”

“It looked like my dad,” Harry muttered, tracing shapes in the dirt with a stick.

“Harry, uh, you’re dad’s dead,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“Was he solid?”

“He was solid,” Harry insisted. “I know I sound crazy, but it had to have been my dad. Who else looks like my dad?”

“You.”

Harry’s head shot up, his eyes finding Hermione. She was right. He looked like his dad. 

“Oh,” Harry breathed.

There was noise somewhere in front of them. Hermione turned to see. 

“Oh! Here we come!”

“We need to move!”

“What? Why?”

“The demenotors are going to glide right over our heads!”

Hermione gave a quick gasp, but hurried to her feet to help Harry untie Buckbeak. 

“I still don’t know what we’re going to do with him?” Hermione worried as they ran along the edge of the forest towards the other side of the lake. 

“We’ll worry about that later!” Harry shouted as he rounded the lake, getting to the other side. 

“This better?” Hermione asked.

Harry looked around and realized they were directly across from where he’d seen the figure who looked like his dad who had produced the Patronus. 

“Perfect,” Harry said, grinning. “Tie up Buckbeak.”

He handed her the rope and hurried off, Hermione calling after him. He scrambled over some rocks and hid behind a bush. He heard a howl and shouting. Suddenly, he felt cold seep over him. 

It was now or never. 

Flinging himself out of the bush, he stood opposite, watching the dementors swarm around Sirius and himself. Harry yanked his wand out and held it before him, suddenly not even feeling the dementors at all. 

He was going to go live with Sirius.

Sirius was going to be set free.

Atlanta picked up the rat.

They had Pettigrew.

He’d get a family.

One that actually didn’t think he was dirt on their shoes. 

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ ”

He’d already saved himself and his friends. He’d already preformed this charm. Perfectly. 

Out of the end of his wand, instead of silver smoke, silver light burst forth and took a shape. It was a dazzling, silver animal. It looked like a horse and began to gallop away from him, heading right at the dementors. Using its antlers, it rammed into the dementors, sending them backwards and scattering them away from the pile of human beings. 

The dementors all began to trail back as the Patronus cantered around the group, protecting them. After the last dementor drifted off, the silver form began to canter across the lake towards Harry. His mouth dropped open.

It wasn’t a unicorn.

It wasn’t a horse.

It was a stag.

“Prongs,” Harry whispered, watching the stag bow it’s head at him. As soon as he’d voiced the name, the creature vanished in a puff of smoke. 

“Harry!”

Harry leaped and turned to find Hermione dragging Buckbeak towards him. 

“Snape is going to wake up soon and we need to get moving! What are we doing with Buckbeak?”

“I don’t know!”

“We have to get back in soon!”

“So does Atlanta!”

Hermione looked worried. 

“Let’s head to Hagrid’s. If all else fails, we can leave Buckbeak there. He’ll be pleased to find him.”

Hermione didn’t seem to like this idea, but nodded. Together, they hurried away from the lake, towards Hargrid’s. Hagrid wasn’t home, having left shortly after Buckbeak had been discovered missing. They sat down near the vegetable patch among all the broken melons and waited. About twenty minutes later, they heard light footsteps running towards them, calling their names. Upon finding them, Atlanta stuffed a piece of parchment into her pocket.

“I nicked the Marauder’s map from Remus’s office. So, what are we to do with Buckbeak? You were just going to leave him here? Where you rescued him from?”

Harry shrugged and Hermione made a noise of frustration. 

Atlanta tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Hey, I got an idea. Buckbeak, would you like to live with Hagrid and be called something else silly?”

The two regarded each other for a moment. Atlanta bowed slowly, then rose up. Buckbeak bowed. Grinning, Atlanta took the rope and towed the bird towards in the forest. 

“So, who saved you from the dementors?” she asked.

“I did,” Harry said.

“What? You cast the charm? Harry! I can’t believe that! That’s very advanced magic!” Hermione shouted, sounding somewhere between outraged and envious. 

“I already knew I could do it! So, I did it.”

“I bet you’ve got plenty to be happy about,” Atlanta said. She sharply veered off the path. “We’ll be there shortly.” 

“Where is there?” Hermione asked, looking around worriedly. 

“The area that Hagrid keeps his flock or pack of hippogriffs.”

Five minutes later, they walked into a small clearing that had a small fence around it. There were sleeping hippogriffs within. Buckbeak strained, hoping to get closer to his fellow hippogriffs. Before Atlanta let him go, she gently too his huge head in her hands and said, “You’re new name is Minsi. I’ll tell Hagrid, okay, Minsi?”

The bird seemingly understood this, as it nodded. Atlanta let it go and opened the door, allowing the bird into the pen. It quickly sat down and went to sleep. 

“Did you just change that Hippogriff’s color?” Hermione asked. 

“What makes you think that?” Atlanta asked, her voice a little high. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time. Snape and Fudge were still in the Hospital Wing when I left, but they’ll be heading for the dementors soon.”

Atlanta took off, running for the castle. Harry and Hermione struggled to keep up after her, as Atlanta could run fast. By the time they caught up to her, she was already at the entrance.

“It’s almost five till!” she shouted at them. 

Harry was going to collapse. He had a stitch in his side and he was sure as hell not getting any air into his screaming lungs. From the panting next to him, he figured Hermione wasn’t any better off. Without muttering a word, they followed Atlanta into the Entrance Hall. Atlanta seemed to have decided she was over running, so they snuck quietly down to the hospital wing, darting behind some armor to hide from Snape and the Minister as they walked down the hallway to wait for the dementor. 

“That was close.”

“At least you didn’t run into Peeves,” Atlanta muttered as Snape and the Minister turned the corner. “That was not fun.”

“What did he do?” Harry asked as they quickly walked down the hall towards the hospital wing. 

“Let’s just say, I had to change my clothes before I came to get all dirty in the tunnel, only I had to clean them as I couldn’t change exactly. I could tell from your face when I first saw you tonight, you’d seen me in this before. Though, I doubt it’d break the space time continuum or something totally timey wimey.”

“Huh?” Harry and Hermione panted, looking at her like she was insane.

“Wizards believe time moves in a straight line, right? That is why they are against changing time. They are wrong. Time’s like a huge ball of twine. It’s totally mixed up and confused, twisted and confused. Timey wimey!”

“You’re rather mental, you do realize this,” Hermione said, looking rather serious. 

“Makes sense to me,” Harry said. 

“You are both known to be mad,” Hermione grumbled. 

Atlanta flashed a grin that backed up the fact she was two screws short of a full set. 

They turned the corner, breaking into a run as they noticed Dumbledore come out of the hospital wing.

“Five minutes to midnight. Three turns maybe? Best of luck and remember, you must not be seen.”

Dumbledore made to close the door as the three came running up to him. He turned and met them with a serene smile. Harry and Hermione almost collapsed to the ground, while Atlanta simply stood there, looking back at Dumbledore with a similar expression to the one he wore. 

“Spiffing, old man,” she said, making her accent more stuffy somehow. 

“We saved Buckbeak,” Harry panted.

Dumbledore beamed.

“Put him in padlock with others.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

“He’s named Minsi now.”

“And might be a different color,” Hermione muttered between trying to catch her breath. 

“Well, well done. Sirius is safe, as I’m sure any minute now the Minister and Professor Snape will find that Madam Bones has Pettigrew and Sirius is on his way to being a free man..”

“No one is getting a Kiss?” Harry asked.

“No.”

“Can I see him?”

“No, you won’t be able to see Sirius for a while. Madam Bones has put him into protective custody and sent him to St. Mungo’s.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore opened the door and peered into the dark ward. “He needs a Mind Healer. Dementors do damage, especially when you’re exposed to them for a long time. He needs healing, for other things as well. Now, off to bed. Miss Black, if you’ll come with me, I’ll take you back to Gryffindor Tower.” 

He opened the door. Hermione and Harry slipped in just in time to see themselves and Atlanta fade into the past. 


	27. Tomorrow's Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For anyone interested, Tom is explained in length in Over The Rainbow in chapter 9 and then some more in chapter 23, and chapter 24 relates to this chapter. Do you need to read it? No…but if you had, you’d all ready know who Tom is. 
> 
> Thank you for all the reviews. I appreciate each and everyone!

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

The following afternoon (after telling Harry to continue to eat lots of chocolate), Madam Pomfrey allowed the trio to leave the Hospital Wing. Draco still had a sore lump on the back of his head, but he was no longer seeing stars, blacking out, or seeing red flashes so he chalked it up as a win. 

The castle was empty, as most of the students were taking advantage of a trip to Hogsmeade. As the three wandered into the Entrance Hall they were met by Atlanta. She looked determined. 

“We need to talk,” Atlanta stated somewhat flatly, scratching at her arm. 

Harry frowned, but glanced up at Draco. “You said you’d tell me when we weren’t…busy.”

A few second years passed by them, eyeing Harry with interest and looking a bit weary of Atlanta. 

“It’s time, Draco,” Hermione said, biting her lip.

“A lot of odd things happened last night,” Atlanta started. “We need someplace…not here to talk. Follow me.”

Atlanta shoved her arms into her coat pockets (which just looked weird) and headed for the doors. Harry followed after her without a backwards glance. Hermione tucked her arm through Draco’s and gave his arm a little squeeze before urging him forward. 

The grounds were bathed in late afternoon sunlight and Draco could almost see the muggy air that hung thickly around them as they trudged across the grounds. Draco realized where Atlanta was heading mere moments before she reached her destination. 

“It seemed fitting,” Atlanta offered, glancing around the grounds before she prodded the knot in the Whomping Willow with a stick. 

She took the stick with her when she headed down. 

They all traveled to the Shirking Shack in silence. Draco was silent because he was partly relieved he could now tell Harry and he’d believe him, and nervous that Harry would be mad about being left out of the loop for so long. 

Once they arrived, Hermione found an old rug rolled up in a closet and the boys rolled it out so they wouldn’t have to sit on the dirty floor. Harry looked between Hermione and Draco for a moment before speaking. 

“All right. I want to the truth.”

“The whole truth and nothing but the truth,” Atlanta added.

“So help me God,” Harry finished. 

Draco quirked an eyebrow, feeling he had missed something. Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. 

“All right. It’s a long story,” Draco started, wearily eyeing Harry. Harry was blankly looking at Draco— completely expressionless. 

It was unnerving. Harry wore his emotions in plain sight— till he’d adopted the blank mask purebloods seemed to wear. Oh, how Draco wish Harry hadn’t picked that up.

“When does it start?”  Atlanta prompted.

“Sixth year when I found a chest with potions and directions,” Draco admitted. He watched Harry carefully. Those bright green eyes narrowed and Harry frowned a little, mask slipping. Draco looked away and stared at the rug, pretending to be transfixed by the design woven into it. “I was set a task that I…detested and did not wish to carry out. I saw no way out, I felt…helpless. However, things…got out of my control quickly. That summer, er, after the task had been carried out by someone else, I actually made the potions then I carried it around with me for almost a year before I used it when all seemed…lost…or more hopeless. Everything was falling apart. I was desperate.”

Slowly, Draco explained. He talked about the Battle at the castle, trying to save his family, being confused about where his loyalty was because he had been told one thing his whole life and it was a lie. He tried to tailor the tale so thirteen-year-old ears could hear it, but the few times he glanced up to find their shocked faces, he knew he was failing. Harry looked shocked his other self had gone off to his death. His face was completely white.

“He could have lied,” Hermione whispered. “Did you realize, he might have lied to make everyone thing it was hopeless?”

“Why would he lie?” Draco asked. “He wanted to kill us all.” 

Draco ended the tale when he woke up on his eleventh birthday to a face full of Atlanta Black. 

“I thought you seemed strange,” Atlanta whispered. 

“So, you’re older than us?” Harry asked. 

That was his first question?

“Mentally, yes. Physically, no,” Draco said. “I only sent my magic and soul back in time.” 

“Draco?” Harry asked, wrinkling his forehead. “The Atlanta following you…did something happen to her?”

“Yes. I sent her back in time to 1977.”

Harry looked perplexed. “How?”

“No clue.”

“She’s dead,” Atlanta flatly stated. “She’s the Lanta girl that Remus and Sirius spoke of last night.”

Draco swallowed thickly.

“But, why did her body get sent back?”

“We don’t know, Harry,” Hermione quietly said, putting a hand on his knee. “Draco might have done something wrong. He might have mixed the potion wrong, or it might have been a side effect— a warning that wasn’t on the spell.”

“What? Like don’t attempt this around others because they’ll get thrown back in time?”

Hermione looked helpless.

No one said anything for awhile. Draco listened as the whole building creaked and shifted— almost as if a light breeze would send the entire thing to the ground. 

“I thought you’d have more questions,” Draco admitted, glancing up through his hair at Harry. 

“I do have questions. You…you know what’s going to happen!” Harry shouted. “You knew! You knew about Quirrellmort and what he was going to do to me!”

“No! I didn’t, really. I mean, I knew he, well, vanished or something at the end of the year. There were rumors Potter and he battled and something about the Philosopher’s Stone, but we…we…we weren’t friends, Harry.”

Harry looked shocked.

“I was in Slytherin. We were…” Draco snorted at how stupid he was going to sound in a moment, but pressed on. “Mortal enemies. I was a…bully. I picked on you constantly. You and Weasley. And Granger.”

“Hermione and I were still friends?”

“I was in Gryffindor,” Hermione whispered.

“Seriously?” both Harry and Atlanta asked. 

Hermione looked affronted and gave a curt nod.

“So…what happened? I mean, you didn’t like me…and…now we’re best friends?”  Harry looked a combination of hurt and confused.

Draco looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I…I realized if there was any way of changing what…what happened I would need to make myself useful to you. I would be the one with the knowledge, the advantage. You need to understand, Harry, I thought you had a huge ego, I hated you and was jealous. Even after…after you saved my life that night when you could have just left me there.”

Silence. Harry shifted, then uncrossed his legs and drew them up to his chest and rested his chin on the top. Hermione picked at her all ready picked apart thumbnail. Atlanta scratched at her arm. 

“Was Weasley a good friend?” Harry asked. “Was he in Gryffindor?”

“Yes. The Golden Trio,” Draco bit out. 

Harry hugged his legs closer. Hermione tore at her cuticles. Atlanta kept rubbing her arm. 

“Harry, it doesn’t really matter what house Weasley was in, or who you were friends with last time around. Draco erased the timeline all the way back to 1943 the moment he sent his soul and magic back in time,” Atlanta quietly said. 

“Huh?” Harry asked, turning to look at her. 

“The Sorting Hat told me,” Atlanta replied. “He likely informed Draco of this as well. He’s sorted Draco and myself twice and the other Atlanta. He told me when he sorted me for what I viewed my first time, he’d already sorted me twice and he was done.”

“Sherlock is kind of cranky,” Harry absently said. 

If Atlanta found this strange, she didn’t comment on it. 

“My point is, that whatever happened to Draco the first time was erased. All the way back to 1943. A new timeline was created.”

“Why the whole way back to 1943?” Harry asked. “Because of where the diary sent you?”

“It is safe to say during Draco’s original timeline, I was not at Hogwarts and did not get sent back in time by a diary, correct?” Atlanta asked, glancing at Draco.

“Yes. You attended that American school your family founded,” Draco said.

“Except for my final year,” Atlanta quietly said. “So, Harry, you must look at this as a gift, not a betrayal or anything because you personally have never done the things Draco remembers. You have no experienced and will likely not experience the things Draco remembers Potter doing. And note, he calls that memory Potter. You are his friend, not Potter.”

Hermione blinked several times, looking oddly amazed as she stared at Atlanta. Harry bit his lip and looked at Draco, who was hiding behind his hair. 

“What have you changed so far?”

“Atlanta being here, Sirius is free, Pettigrew was caught, I’m pretty sure you didn’t find the Chamber of Secrets till second year, and Weasley and Hermione are in different houses. Nott’s turned into a bad impersonation of me. Blasie’s got his own group of Slytherin…well, people who don’t fit the Slytherin mold. And my father…last time around, Mother never got so mad at him she kicked him out. Not that it bothers me. So, er, that’s what I know changed.”

“What’s to come?” Harry asked. 

“I have it all written down,” Hermione suddenly said. “It’s back in my trunk, but you are welcome to read it. I guess both of you.”

“What written down? Everything Draco knows is going to happen?” Harry asked, perking up. “Wait, when did you write it down?”

“After I figured out he was from the future,” Hermione admitted, twisting her hands together. “I wanted to be prepared. And try to figure out the fixed points.”

“Fixed points?”

The next hour Draco and Hermione explained the finer points of time travel. Atlanta argued with them several times, as she didn’t believe in fixed points and seemed to want to explain the string theory of something, but finally as the sun began to dim, Harry seemed to understand. 

“This is really confusing,” Harry sighed. “No wonder you looked like you were going to have a heart attack a few times in the past.”

Draco laughed uncomfortably.

“How did Remus figure it out?” Atlanta asked after Harry fell silent. 

“Well, he cornered me at the start of the year and flatly asked me,” Draco admitted. “I guess he noticed my change in personality. He also…I think Addy , or her Lanta, might have let a few things slip over the years.”

Atlanta cocked her head to the side and looked as if she was trying not to smile. She rubbed her right arm again. 

“Let’s call her Addy from now on. If we’re ever referring to the Atlanta from Draco’s original timeline, she’ll be known as Addy from here on out,” Hermione proclaimed.

They all nodded. 

“Atlanta?” Draco asked. 

“Yes?”

“When did you figure Remus out?”

Harry and Hermione looked extremely confused. Atlanta looked shocked, but then sighed. 

“Oh, yes, I guess you would know about that.”

Hermione and Harry both looked bewildered.

“Who told you?” Draco inquired. 

Atlanta suddenly laughed, throwing her head back. After she calmed down she said, “I told myself. On accident.”

“What?” Draco and the other two asked together. 

Atlanta looked down, tracing patterns in the dusty floor for a moment. 

“During my time travel last year. I was pulled out of 1943 by, well, Addy,” Atlanta explained. “I was— whatever Riddle had done to my head was slowly falling apart by the time she pulled me to 1977. Bits of Atlanta were creeping in, mixing with Calliope, and it was…it was hard. While I was upset at first when I appeared in 1977, in the end it was for the best.”

The three other teens sat in stunned, greedy silence. This was the first time they were hearing about Atlanta’s trip to the past.

“While I was there, I spent time with her and Tom. It was strange…I had become somewhat leery of my bro— Riddle for good reason…and after a time I knew this boy wasn’t the same one I’d left in 1943. I believe it was only due to Tom and Addy that I wound up as sane as I was when they were finally ready to send me back to the future.”

“Who is Tom?” Harry asked— well, more like pleaded. 

Atlanta looked at Harry, her face full of some unknown emotion. Her mouth twitched and she wrinkled her nose a little before putting on a blank mask. 

“Tom is…unique.”

Atlanta swallowed thickly and rolled the sleeve up on the right side. Hermione gasped at the sight of the twisting snake tattoo on her forearm. It wrapped around almost like a bracelet, glittering in the dusty, dying sunlight streaming through the badly boarded up windows. 

“When did you get that?” Harry asked, frowning at it. 

“It’s not an actual tattoo. This is Tom,” Atlanta said, pulling out her wand. “I don’t care. You’re coming out. Oh, grow up. It’ll be fine.”

Hermione and Draco exchanged looks as Atlanta pressed her wand to her arm and then drew it away fast. Out of her arm (or her wand, Draco couldn’t tell) sprouted a human shaped figure. Harry fell backwards, gasping loudly. Draco and Hermione scooted back to look up at the figure.

He was a ghost. Or something like a ghost. Unlike a ghost, he was in living color, but like a ghost he was transparent. Draco could see the kitchen (or what Draco assumed was the kitchen at one point) through the boy. As he moved away from the spot he’d appeared, it looked like he was walking but he blurred around the edges as he moved and made no noise. He was dressed in an old fashion Hogwarts uniform. The semi-transparent being turned and faced Atlanta, a scowl on his perfectly put together face.

Draco glanced over at Hermione, who was looking between Atlanta and the boy with a look of perplexity. 

“Why did you do that?” the boy asked, his voice smooth and somewhat low for a teenager. 

“They want to meet you!”

The boy ground his teeth together and clenched his fists. 

“You’re…you’re…” Harry stuttered, scooting backwards on his heels and hands. 

The boy turned slowly to where Harry was attempting to escape and looked…sad?

“Yes, you’re correct in your assumption, but fear not. I cannot touch you. I am also not _him_.”

He spat the last word out.

“Oh, he’s not him at all,” Atlanta assured, realizing what had freaked Harry out.

“Who are you?” Hermione asked, looking at the boy closely. She glanced at Atlanta and looked back at the boy with an eager expression. 

“Riddle! He’s Tom Riddle!” Harry shouted, scrambling to his feet. 

Hermione no longer appeared eager to know the boy. 

“Correct as usual King Friday,” Atlanta said. 

Tom frowned at Atlanta. “You do realize no one knows what you are speaking about, correct?”

“Do they ever?”

Tom sighed, turning his attention back to the others. “I’m fifteen or fourteen. I can’t remember. It’s been awhile since…I never actually knew how old I was. We guessed based on what I remembered about Hogwarts.”

When Harry failed to actually look less freaked out, Tom pressed his thin lips together. 

“I am nothing like _Voldemort_.”

He spat that word out as well. Harry stopped trying to scramble away, but got to his feet and took his wand out. Hermione was still looking between Tom and Atlanta as if she was missing a puzzle piece. 

“I wouldn’t carry him with me if he were,” Atlanta said quietly. “Please give me a chance to explain, okay?”

She was looking pleadingly at Harry. Harry took a few deep breaths and sat back down, but kept his wand handy. 

“Tom is tied to, er, Addy’s magic because of the accident that bore him.”

Tom scowled at her, then looked away. 

Atlanta launched into the story on how Tom had come into being. It involved a magical sketch book, an expired potion and a clumsy Addy Black. Because of this, he was tied into Addy’s magic and ceased to exist without it around. Throughout the tale, Tom stared at the wall and did not float or move around the room. 

Atlanta finished her explanation and silence fell for a minute. 

“You left out an important bit,” Tom said, finally turning around to look at the teens on the floor. “Addy’s magic makes things solid to me. Without her magic, things aren’t solid.”

He swiped his hand through a broken chair as an example.

“And people are never solid.” 

“Other than Addy. She was solid as she was infused with her own magic,” Atlanta said, then turned to the other three. “After she graduated she infused her a flat with her magic, so he could live like a, well, us inside the flat. Outside, even with his travel cube, he can’t touch much and he’s still kind of see through no matter what. Oh, and the whole not solid to other people kind of makes him stick out in public. He’s pretty much been trapped in the flat in Glasgow for the past fifteen years or so.”

Draco filed away the fact there was a flat that Addy owned in Glasgow for later. He knew it was important, but couldn’t remember why. 

“You could have lived in Edinburgh,” Hermione offered. “There are ghosts there out and about.” 

“I did that when we lived there before Glasgow,” Tom said, smirking down at Hermione. “But, it’s not as much fun as you would think.” 

“When I returned I requested Remus introduce me to Tom. I’d already met Tom in 1977 and knew him to be different from the one I’d left in 1943. I got to know Tom over the summer and, uh, over the holidays I picked him up from Remus’ flat and brought him to Hogwarts.”

“It is dreadfully boring be trapped in a flat mostly on your own for fifteen years,” Tom grumbled. “Addy left the flat to Remus upon her death, but he doesn’t come by very often.” 

Hermione appeared baffled, shook her head a few times. Harry was still eyeing Tom as if he was going to do something sinister at any moment. 

“Wait, if only Addy is solid to Tom, does that mean he’s not solid to you?” Hermione asked, looking to Atlanta.

Atlanta nodded. “He’s semi-solid to me. I can kind of touch him. See.”

She swiftly stood and went to Tom and poked him in the shoulder. Her finger met resistance, but it was more like she was poking her finger into jam. 

Tom scowled.

“My magic isn’t like Addy’s,” Atlanta explained. “It’s been altered form her original magic by Riddle. Riddle also altered his magic from when he had been sketched, so his magic isn’t exactly right either to be a match.”

“In other words, the only good she is to me is she can take me out of the house and I can tell where I am going,” Tom grumbled.

“By putting you in her arm?” Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side. 

“Yeah, I guess you can say that,” Atlanta said, scratching her nose. “I don’t really understand it. It’s how Addy transported him. We tried it and it worked.”

“So, it was when you met Addy she let the beans spill?” Draco asked, drawing them back to what he originally wanted to know. 

“Yes. On accident,” Atlanta admitted. “She didn’t mean to, but it slipped out after spending the day with Remus and I made a comment about knowing him quite well in the future.”

“Addy didn’t know him as well. He was her tutor for a few years, but they weren’t close,” Tom added. “Draco likely noticed the changes when he arrived in 1991.”

“I did.”

“What did she tell you? What is going on?” Harry asked, looking baffled. 

Atlanta glanced down at the ground and then looked back up. “Remus is my father.”

Hermione and Harry blinked several times. 

“What?” Harry asked. “How? But…you’re…how?”

“I don’t know the details,” Atlanta grumbled. “My mother isn’t my birth mother. My father isn’t my birth father. The woman I thought was my dead aunt gave birth to me and gave me to the woman I call Mom. Because both my birth mother and father were werewolves, and female werewolves usually do not carry children to term, when she got to the point she was sure she’d have me, my birth mother hatched a plan to pass me off as Altair and Circe’s child. As you can tell, it worked.”

“Why?”

“Harry, remember what Professor Lupin said last night? Werewolves are shunned by society,”  Hermione reminded Harry. “And since female werewolves do not have children…I can only imagine how a child of two werewolves would be seen.”

“Exactly,” Atlanta agreed. 

“But, you’re not a werewolf,” Harry said, looking as if he’d gotten hit on the head by something heavy.

“No. I have wolfish qualities, though. You saw my eyes last night. Sometimes they glow. They used to glow amber, but since…Riddle, they glow blue I’ve been told. I can smell and see more keenly than the average human, I’m agile and I’m very good at running. Other than that, I’m perfectly human.” 

“I’m glad you said human and not normal,” Tom snickered. 

Atlanta slugged him in the arm. Or she tried. Her hand went halfway through his arm before it stopped.  

“I think my head might explode,” Harry moaned. 

“Does he know you know?” Draco asked Atlanta.

“Yes. He was the one who helped me find balance between Calliope and Atlanta. I blurted it out at one of my weaker moments that I knew,” Atlanta admitted. “He had no idea what to do. I thought he’d not return, but he did.”

“Mind overload. Shut down immediate,” Harry faintly said and then made an explosion noise, hands shooting out of his head. They flopped lifelessly to his side and he collapsed sideways. 

Hermione frowned at Harry’s dramatics, then looked at Tom. She peered at him curiously and asked, “Tom, what have you been doing since, uh, you were trapped in the flat? I can’t imagine you simply sat there gathering dust.” 

Tom shifted a little, glancing at Atlanta and then looking at Harry. 

He almost looked embarrassed. 

“Tell them. They’ll figure it out,” Atlanta urged.

“I write,” Tom announced. “Invent spells. Make money from my own spells.”

“Cool,” Harry said, sitting up and looking excited. “I know someone who does that.”  

“Tom, tell him,” Atlanta sighed. “Or I will.”

Tom pouted, huffed and finally turned away to face the wall. “I’m TR DeVinette.”


	28. When Harry Met Tom

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

Harry’s jaw dropped and he leapt to his feet. Draco cast around in his head why he knew that name. It sounded familiar and was on the tip of his tongue why he knew the name. Harry was gobsmacked, so Draco looked at Hermione for a clue. Her eyes were huge, but she wasn’t looking at Tom as if it suddenly all made sense, but rather at Harry— who still appeared to have been told the sun goes round the moon. 

“Oh, my,” Hermione whispered. 

Harry suddenly found his voice. 

“You’re the guy I’ve been writing to?! I thought you were an adult! You’re the guy who translated— oh! That’s…why…you could…oh…”

Harry fell silent and simply stared at the ghost-like being, who was resolutely staring at the ground while facing the wall. An uncomfortable silence fell. Hermione got to her feet and rubbed her hands together. She wore a rather manic, forced smile. 

“Well, this is good. Draco’s from the future, lived this life once before, Atlanta knows who her birth father is, and we all know who Tom is now! Great. Let’s go,” Hermione declared. 

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, wondering what had gotten into Hermione. 

Atlanta nodded at Hermione, but took a few tentative steps towards Tom. 

“Tom?”

“Atlanta.”

“Would you like to speak to Harry on your own?”

Draco felt so confused. “Wait, who is TR DeVinette? I know the name, but—”

“Good idea,” Hermione interrupted suddenly, grabbing Draco by the elbow. “Let’s go, Draco. Harry, uh, we’ll see you at dinner.”

Draco got to his feet to stop her incessant pulling. He attempted to protest, as he didn’t understand what was going on, but Hermione dragged him to the trap door and  pushed him into the hole. He landed with a thud, almost ramming his head into the dirt wall. 

“You do realize I hit my head yesterday,” Draco grumbled, standing up and dusting himself off. 

Hermione landed next to him and shook her head. 

“Who is TR DeVinette?” 

“He is a Spellsmith. Or just a spell inventor. I can’t remember if he was given his mastery or not,” Hermione said, pushing Draco to start walking. “He worked with Addy till her death. He invents spells for a living and is rather well known and respected, even if he’s a recluse. Though, that is understandable now that I know who he is. Or what he is. I guess he’s a who. And OH! His name…Tom Riddle _DeVinette_. _Devinette_. It’s French for _riddle_. Oh, he’s cheeky. He hates Voldemort, who hates his Muggle past, so he stuck it in his name TWICE! And used French!”

“Hermione, breathe,” Draco said.

Hermione sucked in some air before starting again. 

“Anyways, the important thing about TR DeVinette is that he’s the spellwriter whose spell Harry used to translate Slytherin’s journal last year,” Hermione reminded Draco. “They’ve been writing ever since. Harry looks forward to those letters. I guess you failed to notice.”

Draco felt lost at sea.

“The guy who translated Slytherin’s journals is actually the last heir to Slytherin?” Draco asked, his voice squeaking at the end.

“Ironic,” Hermione huffed. “Though, the boy we just met is nothing like how I imagined a teenage Voldemort to be.”

“No, you’re right. From what Harry said when he met sixteen-year-old Riddle last year…he was rather…”

“On his way to becoming an evil, psychopathic dictator?” 

“Yeah. Wait, why was Harry so upset? And why did we leave him behind to talk to Tom on his own?”

“They need to talk. Honeslty, Draco.”

“I missed something else, didn’t I?”

“I believe you did,” Hermione replied and stomped passed him. “It’s fascinating how he came into being, though. Born out of a sketch that was imbued with soul magics, potions, and magic. Fascinating.” 

“Then, he lived with Addy for a few years, then Sirius, then Remus— if I understand the story right.”

“True…it does make him a very different person than the actual Tom Riddle. Or the other one.” 

“Lord Voldemort never lived with others. He never depended on anyone really. This Tom person is dependent on Addy’s magic. And now he’d dependent on Atlanta if he wants a change of scenery,” Draco mused.

“Quite right,” Hermione muttered, tripping over a root. Draco caught her. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

“Harry’s been corresponding with him since last year,” Hermione whispered. “What are the odds? It’s a wonder they got on so well.”

“Well, it does explain why he was so excited when Harry wanted to translate the journals,” Draco commented. 

“It does. It really does,” Hermione admitted. “It is kind of creepy. She carries him around in her arm. How does that really work? He said he is aware of where he is. Does that mean there’s another method that he’s not aware where he is?”

Draco shrugged, pushing the opening at the other end open. He sucked in the fresh air and hurried to help Hermione out. 

“And is that why she sometimes cocks her head to the side? Like he can speak to her through her mind or something? It’d explain why she…oh, he must. She responded to him right before she took him out of her arm. Why is it a snake image? It was somewhat…odd to see that woven around her arm.” 

“Better than an actual snake tattoo,” Draco reminded her then shuddered.

“Yes. True.” 

They were silent as they made their way towards the castle. 

“At least Harry knows now. About you.”

“Yeah. Though, we didn’t tell him the bad news yet,” Draco realized. He stopped walking.

“What?”

“Next year. We didn’t tell him what is going to happen next year.”

“No, but we will. I offered him the scroll we’ve been working on.”

“He’s not going to take it well.”

“No, I doubt he will. Well, you’ve told people that next year is the year…he’s coming back,” Hermione pointed out as they began walking again. A few students passed them. Hermione drew closer to Draco. “Harry heard that…prediction. Do you think a servant went to him?”

“Might have happened. This time, though, it wasn’t Pettigrew. He went to Azkaban,” Draco said as they started up the stairs. “So that’s a changed point in time. Sirius was never free while he was alive.”

Hermione pursed her lips tightly together and let out a huff as they entered the castle. “Life is so….confusing.” 

“Yes. At least I’m not alone any more,” Draco laughed bitterly. “I do feel better having Harry know, but I’m worried about getting through his thick head about fixed points in time. He seemed to get it, but his hero complex might not like it down the road.”

“True. He might decide to prescribe to Atlanta’s theory on time.”

“That it’s a huge ball of twine?”

“Exactly. It’s either a mad woman in a box or a ball of twine,” Hermione dryly said as they entered the almost empty Great Hall. 

Draco laughed as they sat down at the Gryffindor table together. They began to dish themselves up food. 

“Do you think Harry will come back for dinner?”

“No. I’m sure TR and Harry have some things to say to one another.”

“You’re not going to tell me what I’m missing here, are you?”

“Nope,” Hermione grinned, popping a piece of chicken into her mouth. 

They ate in relative silence till Ginny sat down across from them, looking cross.

“Ginny?” Draco asked.

“Where have you all been all afternoon? I haven’t seen Atlanta or Harry. Did you two go to the village?”

“No. I don’t know where they are,” Draco lied.

Ginny sighed deeply, frowning. “So, what did happen with Buckbeak? I heard he escaped. The rumors are rather wild, but I assume you two know what actually happened.”

Hermione let out a high pitched laugh and collapsed on the table. Draco and Ginny both stared at her. 

* * *

“So, here’s your cube.”

Atlanta pulled out a wooden cube, no bigger than a basic alphabet block and set it on the ground near Tom’s feet. Tom suddenly was no longer floating above the ground, but looked to be standing on the floor. 

“Harry, bring that with you when you’re done. We do not know what happens to him when he’s away from Addy’s magical signature,” Atlanta said. She gave him a stern look. 

Harry nodded, shifting uneasily on his feet. Harry didn’t want to actually be on his own with TR, or rather Tom Riddle. While Harry had been aware of DeVinette looked like thanks to his photo on the back of some of his books, being faced with what Tom actually looked like was jarring. 

He was exceptionally good looking. And he sounded…nothing like the other Riddle sounded. Their voices were different, even though Tom was younger than the other version of Riddle Harry had met.

Harry felt like he’d been thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool and was drowning— which wasn’t hard to believe as he’d never learned to swim. 

“Bring the cube with you when you’re done. I’ll be in the Common Room,” Atlanta said. 

Before Harry could ask how he was supposed to explain the new somewhat see through boy with him (who would garner attention simply by how he looked, let alone his semi-transparent state) to anyone he passed in the castle, Atlanta fell through the hole in the floor leaving him alone with the ghost thing who claimed to be TR DeVinette but was really called Tom Riddle. 

Said boy stood with his back to Harry staring at the wall again. 

“I can travel in the confines of the cube. I dislike it because I cease to exist,” Tom drawled, still studying the dusty, wallpapered peeling wall. 

“Er, okay. Uh, so…you’re…er…uh…erm…you…em…”

“Articulate, aren’t you?” Tom sighed. 

“I write better than I speak,” Harry grumbled. “Also, kinda been assaulted with a lot of information the last twenty-four hours.”

Harry rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes.

He was jolted out of his head when he actually heard Tom turn around. His shoes made noise. Harry’s head shot up and stared at Tom, who was looking right at Harry now instead of the wall he had been glaring at since Atlanta left. Tom kicked the cube closer to Harry and “walked” closer. 

“My magic is leaking out of your head,” Tom stated. “I’ve been dying to look at your forehead closer since January.” 

Harry had no idea how to respond. 

Tom’s eyes were dark blue, Harry suddenly realized as the boy stood before him. He was looking more solid now that he was standing almost on top of the cube on the ground. 

Now that he was standing closer to Harry, Harry could study him better. Tom’s eyes were dark blue, Harry suddenly realized as the boy stood before him. He was looking more solid now that he was standing almost on top of the cube on the ground. Harry also began to notice subtle difference between this Tom and the version Harry had met last summer. Both were breathtakingly handsome, but the eyes, the hair, the height and oddly the bone structure were different. The Tom before Harry also lacked the evil, maniacal energy the other had had. 

This one seemed utterly calm and sunny compared to the other one. 

“He did not,” Tom breathed, his eyes going large. 

Tom was taller than Harry— then again,who wasn’t— so he had to look down to meet Harry’s eyes. Tom’s deep sapphire eyes darted between Harry’s emerald ones for a long moment before snapping back to his forehead. He reached out with a long finger. Harry waited for the feeling of Tom’s finger going through his head. He assumed it would feel like when a ghost went through you, but it didn’t. Instead he felt a solid finger trace his scar. It wasn’t a warm finger, nor was it cold. It was simply solid.

“Interesting,” Tom murmured. “What did he do?”

“Tried to kill me,” Harry bitterly reminded the other boy. 

“Obviously,” Tom drawled, dropping his hand and standing up straight. “I’ve seen this before.”

“A scar leaking magic? Or this scar?”

“The leaking magic,” Tom replied. “It was out of a crown Addy found in the junk room she and Regulus tended to hang out within. The same room that boy Malfoy knew set on fire.”

Harry rubbed the scar absently and stared up at Tom. 

“I knew your mother,” Tom suddenly said. He looked upset.

“You did?” Harry asked, eyes going large.

Tom nodded. “I actually liked her.”

He sounded almost surprised and scowled. 

“Then why are you frowning?”

“She died. I knew she was going to die,” Tom admitted, frowning further. “Malfoy explained fixed points to you and you do understand, right? Something must happen for time to continue. Addy didn’t believe this till after she realized she was changing nothing. She was also afraid to change things too much as she didn’t know when Malfoy was going to show up. Because of how many things revolved around…that event in time, she knew she’d be unable to change it. It was fixed, likely…”

Harry felt a barrage of emotions and stumbled backwards. 

“I’m apologize. I’ve always felt…” Tom twisted his mouth and scowled at the ground. “Displeasure at being unable to stop it.”

“Did you try?”

Tom nodded, tossing his dark hair out of his eyes. “I tried to dissuade Sirius from letting the rat be the Secret Keeper. He failed to listen to me.”

“He mentioned that,” Harry admitted.

Tom snorted. 

“Did you know my dad too, then?”

“I met him once,” Tom said. “The day I met all of them, except Pettigrew. I never met him formally. Addy did not believe it was a good idea to introduce us.” 

“But, you knew my mum better?”

Tom nodded. “She was brilliant. Very clever. It was a tragic loss to loose someone like her before she had a chance to make…to make a difference.” 

Tom turned and kicked the cube back across the room. 

“Even though she was Muggleborn?” Harry asked, feeling very confused suddenly. “I thought you hated Muggleborns.”

“No,” Tom said, turning sharply. “ _He_ hates them. I didn’t think much of them, granted, until I found myself…with Addy, but I never wanted them wiped off the face of the Earth. That is…nonsensical.” 

Tom “stomped” across the room to where the cube had landed. He didn’t make noise till he was about a foot from the cube. 

“My views on the matter changed greatly the more time I spent with Addy and in her time,” Tom added as an afterthought. “And your mother was brilliant. And powerful.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, unsure what to say and yet felt rather pleased by what Tom had just said. “No one tells me much about her. My mum.”

Tom turned sharply. “Excuse me? Why ever not?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure. I hear about my dad, but never her.”

Tom made an odd noise in the back of his throat. “I can try to answer any questions you have on Lily. We exchanged letters after graduation and spoke on numerous occasions on spell composition.” 

Harry nodded. 

The two stood in an uncomfortable silence for a while. Tom kicked his cube around, heading into another room. Harry could no longer see him, but he heard the cube hit the ground, skipping every now and then. Occasionally, he heard Tom’s shoes as he stomped and kicked. 

“Tom?”

“Yes?” Tom called from a front room. 

“You kept writing to me because you figured out who I was, didn’t you?”

Tom didn’t answer. Harry sighed. Soon, Harry heard the cube skipping along the floor till Tom re-entered the room. He wore a rather hurt expression. 

“I wrote back to you because you translated a Parseltounge book,” he said, holding his hands behind his back and appearing older than his fifteen years. “As far as I knew, only Voldemort and myself were able to read and write it. I was curious to know where you’d found this journal written by Slytherin. I didn’t realize I was writing to Harry Potter till Atlanta brought me to Hogwarts and I saw your owl. I kept writing because I was interested in the journals. I did not realize till after our second exchange you could read Parseltounge and knew exactly what you had had before you had used the translation spell. You had found the Chamber of Secrets, did you not?”

Harry nodded.

“I never found it,” Tom said. “I looked, but I’d yet to find it before…”

Tom made a vague motion to himself.

“Oh, so you’re…from before he found it?”

“Yes. That is also why we look different,” Tom pointed out. “I know you noticed.”

Harry nodded. “Does it have to do with Atlanta?”

“It does,” Tom agreed easily. “But, I enjoy our correspondence. You’re rather clever, even though I’m afraid that at some point you were told you weren’t allowed to show just how clever you are. I’ve noticed in the past year it comes out more and more, though.”

Harry itched the side of his nose. “I, uh, well, I wasn’t supposed to do better than Dudley at school. Or I got in trouble.”

Tom made a rather angry sounding noise and muttered darkly to himself. 

“Yeah…but, since I’ve been at Hogwarts, I’ve been, well, trying harder. Draco and Hermione…well, it’s hard not to be good at school with those two around. Though, I guess Draco’s so smart because he already did it.” 

“He is not what I expected,” Tom admitted, kicking the cube across the room and following it. “From how Addy spoke of him, I expected a spoiled brat with no exceptional talent.”

“Draco?”

“Hmmm. Yes. But, she didn’t really know the man he had turned into when he chose to travel through time,” Tom admitted. 

“This is all so…hard to grasp,” Harry admitted. 

“Quite right. Even for the magical world, this current situation is somewhat far fetched,” Tom scoffed. “Then again, I doubt anything like this has really happened.”

“Yeah, I dunno,” Harry said, raking a hand through his hair. He rubbed his forehead. “Uh, should I be worried about this scar? I mean, uh, first year when Quriellmort was around, it hurt a lot.”

“Quirellmort?” Tom asked, turning his sharp eyes to Harry.

“Er, there was this professor who was possessed by Voldemort.”

Tom’s hands hung limply at his side and he frowned. He tossed his hair out of his eyes again, then pressed his palms together, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. He studied Harry’s forehead for several moments before speaking. 

“It hurt, while Voldemort was near? Did it hurt when I touched it?”

“Er, no. It felt solid, but nothing like what I felt first year. Draco said it was because Voldemort was near…but if you’re the same…”

“ _His_ magic is tainted and changed,” Tom reminded Harry. “While it is similar to my magic, it’s not mine. He infused his magic with Atlanta’s. He also dove very deep into the Dark Arts. It altered his magic more drastically than whatever spell he performed with Atlanta. As to being worried? I doubt there is much you can do. Just…if it pains you, remember what you are doing or who is close.”

Harry rubbed it again. 

“Dumbledore said it might be a connection between us,” Harry confessed. 

He glanced up, surprised to see the look of disgust on Tom’s face. For some reason, the look of disgust further made him feel at ease. Something within him knotted and he knew that while he might still be kind of confused and hurt, everything was going to be fine.

Tom wasn’t Lord Voldemort. 

Harry went back to looking at the ground. 

“He said…well, I told him about the whole prickling thing and he said I’d feel pain when Voldemort was feeling especially…uh, evil,” Harry explained, then jerked, looking up. “Oh, you touched me.”

Tom blinked, bemused expression painting on his face.

“Voldemort can’t touch me without feeling a lot of pain. Because of what my mum did,” Harry said quietly. 

“Oh,” Tom said, his eyes going large. “Oh! Yes. He would over look that sort of magic. That is very old magic.”

“But, you know it?”

“Harry, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands and no where to go,” Tom dryly reminded him.

“Oh. Yes. Right.”

They fell silent again. 

“Now what?” Harry asked when he could no longer stand it. 

“The sun is setting,” Tom stated. “It’s likely time for dinner and your friends will be wondering where you’ve gotten to. We ought to return to the castle.”

Harry watched the boy across the room, feeling his stomach knot and flop over. He swallowed heavily and bit his lip. 

“I hope to see you over the summer,” Tom said quietly, looking at the ground. He was standing right above the cube. “Sirius is able to visit the flat and as one of the Secret Keepers he will be able to let you in. Will you come visit?”

Tom glanced up from through his hair, suddenly looking like the teenage boy he appeared to be. Harry let go of his bottom lip and smiled at the boy across the room. 

“Sure. Wait, don’t you technically live with Lupin?” 

Tom rolled his eyes, flopping his hair out of his eyes. “Yes. It is highly likely Sirius will be visiting often in attempt to repair his relationship with Remus.”

“Oh. Yes. Okay.” 

“Then, till later.” 

Tom grinned at him and vanished into the cube. Harry walked across the room, bending down and picked up his friend.

Friend.

He had a ghost thing for a friend. A ghost thing that lived in a cube and looked like a teenage boy, yet was actually quite a bit older. 

A friend who he’d thought was an adult for the past year. 

Well, if his life was normal and predictable, then he wouldn’t be Harry Potter. 

Pocketing the cube, Harry headed out. 


	29. Tell the Tale Scars

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Tragically, I did not write that book. JKR did. Thus, I do not own it. **

* * *

The end of term came with all the expected things happening. The school spent most of the remainder of the term not talking about Sirius Black but about Remus Lupin instead. Just like the first time, Snape let it slip to the Slytherins that Lupin was a werewolf— thus, causing Lupin to resign and vanish off before term actually ended. 

Harry was livid.

Atlanta was silently broody.

Hermione was besides herself.

Draco wondered if the real Moody would be their professor next year— or they’d have someone else all together. 

Mere weeks later, Draco was standing in the empty kitchen of Grimmauld Place wondering what he ought to do with himself for the next two weeks. His mother wasn’t clear why they were spending the summer at the old house, but Draco wasn’t about to argue at the location change. It had been years since he’d last set foot in the townhouse on Grimmauld Place. His memories of the joint were all of sinister paintings, dark colors and out of date wallpaper. 

It’d clearly been redecorated by his mother recently. The house was now all cream, light, airy blues, rich, buttery yellows, and pale, summery greens.

The kitchen happened to be his favorite room. It was shiny, bright and white, accent with oak accents. For some odd reason, the room radiated with cheer, even though it had likely been dark, dreary and stuffy in the past.  

He entered the kitchen on a rather sunny morning and found a plate of toast sitting on the scrubbed wooden table. Grabbing a slice, he hurried to find the French press. 

“Does Master Draco need something?”

Draco turned around. He was rather surprised to find Dobby standing next to him, nervously wringing his hands together. 

“What are you doing here, Dobby?”

“I serve the House of Black nows, sir.”

“Is that so? Brilliant. Wait, didn’t you want to be free?”

“I is free, sir. I is paid now, sir.”

“Good.”

“No needing anything, sir?”

“French press.” 

Dobby frowned. “Master too young to be drinking coffee.”

Draco leveled Dobby a look. Dobby worried his lip for a moment, his huge tennis ball eyes growing larger by the minute. Before Draco could tell him never mind, Dobby moved quickly and produced the press, the coffee beans and the kettle magically switched on. 

“I can—”

“Dobby lives to serve,” Dobby quickly reminded Draco and finished coffee preparations. 

Draco sat down at the table and munched on his toast.

“Master Draco needs anything else?” Dobby asked, extending the cup of coffee.

“No, thanks,” Draco said. “Thank you, Dobby.” 

Dobby nodded and vanished with a crack. Draco resumed munching on his toast. As he reached for the discarded copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , he felt his pocket vibrate. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a piece of parchment and unfolded it. 

_Save me. -HP_

Draco snorted. Draco contemplated what he ought to say to the Boy Who Was Bored. He went back to idly reading the paper. He noticed a story that caught his attention and decided he’d read before answering Harry. In the time it took him to read the article on the most recent trouble with cauldron bottoms, the parchment vibrated at least four more times. Folding the paper up, he pulled the parchment over to him and read: 

_Save me. It’s been ten hours. Need saving now. -HP_

_HEEEELLLLPPPP!!!!!!!!! -HP_

_PAY ATTENTION TO ME! -HP_

_My life is being sucked out through my nose. - HP_

_Please respond to Harry. He’s annoying me. He wants to talk about Quidditch. -HG_

Draco snorted, pulling out his enchanted Muggle pen to reply to Harry. 

_What am I to save you from, oh, Insane One? Besides your dramatics…-DM_

_I am not filled with dramatics. -HP_

_I am so bored. Sirius wrote to me. He’s getting better and said he’d be out by the time I come to visit. Did you hear? -HP_

_No. Mother hasn’t told me yet. I believe she’s visiting Sirius this morning. She’s not home currently from what I can tell. -DM_

_How is the new digs? Creepy as you remember them? -HP_

_No. Mother redecorated. Clearly she had decided Sirius was not guilty and moved herself in and gutted the place. - DM_

_Ah. So, any idea why she wants to spend the summer? -HP_

_I assume to aid in Sirius’ readjustment. We’re his only family. Dobby’s here. -DM_

_Oh, god. Does he seem…alright? -HP_

_He seemed quite sane when I came across him this morning. Though, he might have a heart attack when you get here. When are you getting here? -DM_

_In two weeks. Why must I always stay two weeks? Every summer your mother says I must stay two weeks. -HP_

_I don’t know. I think Dumbledore told her you had to remain there for at least two weeks. You could ask her. - DM_

_I could. -HP_

_So, how is Tom? - DM_

_He’s good. I thought it’d be more weird…but it’s not really. -HP_

_That’s good. - DM_

_I have to go. Time to eat half a grapefruit. Please send cake. -HP_

_Cake? Why on earth do you want cake? -DM_

_Dudley’s the size of a killer whale and no longer fits into knickerbockers. His school suggested a diet. Strongly. So, all I eat is rabbit food. - HP_

_Excuse me? - DM_

_Must eat tiny amounts of tasteless food so Dudley can wear trousers. Thus, send cake. Or any type of puddings. Lots of puddings. FEED ME! -HP_

_All right. I’ll put Mother on it. She’ll send you puddings. -DM_

_Cake. I really want cake. - HP_

* * *

“The Potters were unmarked,” Narcissa proclaimed, staring holes into the side of Sirius’ head. 

Sirius frowned deeply. He was trying to wrap his head around the fact his cousin, who had hated him pretty much his entire life was now his best friend. 

It was strange and he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He was beginning to fear, after two weeks, there wasn’t another shoe. 

“Voldemort killed them,” Sirius reminded her. “It’s a solid fact. He was the only person besides Wormtail and myself who knew where the Potters were. Wormtail didn’t kill the Potters. And I know I didn’t.”

“You are missing my point, Sirius,” Narcissa sighed, sinking rather ungracefully back into the uncomfortable hospital chair she’d been sitting in for the past two hours while she dumped information on Sirius. 

Well, _more_ information. Narcissa had been piling information on Sirius since he’d woken up in St. Mungo’s after the night everything…exploded. She brought him papers to sign, showed him bank statements, and wills of dead relatives. She pumped at least twelve years worth of history into him top of this— Muggle and wizarding history. 

Today, though, took the cake. 

Yes, he was shocked his father hadn’t actually disowned him and Sirius was currently legal head of the Black family. Had been since his father had been murdered.

Oh, yeah, his father was murdered by Voldemort. He hadn’t just died from the stress his paranoia caused like Sirius had been led to believe. 

Yes, he was amazed he actually had custody of Harry (though, he still had to leave Harry with his relatives for two weeks because of something Lily had done to protect Harry from Moldy). 

Yes, he was somewhat upset that Remus had resigned his post at Hogwarts. Narcissa had explained he felt he was a danger to the students after what had happened that night. Sirius disagreed, but Remus hadn’t stopped by since Sirius had been checked into St. Mungo’s for treatment, so he’d been unable to tell his old friend. 

Oh, he was totally pissed at Snape. He’d spent the past two weeks dreaming up various revenge scenarios. (The Mind Healers did not like this one bit, but Sirius refused to stop. It was fun.)

But today, Narcissa had shown up right after breakfast with a scary looking dossier and handed it to him. Before he had a chance to even look at what was inside, she told him Voldemort was pretty much immortal, had theses disgusting things called hocruxes, and Orion Black and Regulus had known about them. 

It was why they were both dead as doornails. 

Besides the fact Narcissa was AGAINST everything Voldemort stood for (seemingly— he’d believe it when he saw it), the most shocking thing she’d brought up had to do with Harry. 

Which, was what they were arguing about now. 

Well, as much as Narcissa was willing to argue. 

“I’m not refuting the fact he killed them,” Narcissa insisted. “Harry has the mark. I think he was supposed to be number seven.”

“Harry has a lighting bolt scar. It’s not a numeral seven. And it’s not black. It looks like, well, a scar. Those…don’t.” 

Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose and sat up straight. “Were you always this dense?”

“Yes,” Sirius deadpanned. 

“I know— if it doesn’t blow up, explode, or turn something a lurid shade of pink you have no interest,” Narcissa muttered. 

She grabbed two photograph. They were two close ups of the numeral seven scars. She flipped one over and tapped it with her wand, melding the images together. She extended it towards him. Sirius took it and gasped. 

“Wait a second…what did you do?”

“Combined them together so you’d see what I have been trying to get into your thick head the past half hour.” 

“I spent twelve years with the dementors, give me a break,” Sirius grumbled. “But…the lighting bolt scar…it’s just a reflection of two sevens? Doesn’t explain the color difference…”

“The Kill Curse leaves no mark.”

“No one lives from it,” Sirius countered. 

“Harry’s the only one.”

“Voldemort’s horcrux victims are the only ones marked.”

“Harry’s the only one with a unique mark.”

Sirius looked up at his cousin, taking her passive mask. “What are you not telling me?”

“I don’t think Lily dying for him would have been enough to protect him from the Killing Curse or Voldemort’s desire to make him a horcrux victim. Numerous mother and fathers, brother and sisters and so on have died in the manner Lily did,” Narcissa said. “Only one boy lives.” 

Sirius opened his mouth to shout at her or something, but she slapped him upside the head. 

“Ouch. That hurt,” Sirius pouted. 

“I was not saying her sacrifice was in vain,” Narcissa snapped. “No, it might have helped Harry and given him protection. There is not much out there on hocruxes. The most informative book is owned by the Blacks, but it’s written in some language that makes no sense to me. Also…” 

The woman shuddered rather violently. 

“The book Father lent Riddle?” Sirius asked, remembering what his father had said in the letter Narcissa had shown him at one point. He searched through the folder, but didn’t find it. All he had were piles of photos of murders. “That was a book no one could read. And he didn’t like it.” 

“Correct. It’s evil.”

She shuddered again.

“Are you trying to tell me you think Harry’s one of these hocruxes?” Sirius realized, his eyes going large, disgust and panic rising in his stomach. 

Narcissa pressed her lips together.

“Oh, god. You are! He’s just a boy!”

“I know! Do you not think I feel sick each time I think it? When I picked the boys up from the station I…”

She trailed off and turned away from Sirius. He gaped at her for a moment. 

“You love him, don’t you?” Sirius said, awed.

“Of course I do,” she snapped, turning back to him, her light blue eyes filled with moisture. “He’s family. And…”

“You didn’t like James,” Sirius muttered when she failed to continue. 

“And at one point I didn’t care for you either,” Narcissa reminded him. “It is hard not to like Harry.” She eyed him for a moment. “I hope you don’t turn him into a big headed jerk.”

“Why would I do that?” Sirius asked.

Narcissa pressed her lips together and moved onto another topic. 

“Besides my findings, Atlanta Black informed me the scar is leaking magic.”

“What?”

“She inherited, rather strongly, the Black trait of being able to see magic,” Narcissa explained. “I know you can see magic if it’s particularly strong or if you try. She doesn’t even have to try. Remus taught her how to shift between magical vision and regular vision, but when she returned to her trip in the past, she informed me Harry’s scar was leaking Riddle’s magic.”

Sirius felt his insides clench and involuntarily jerked. Whenever he heard Riddle, he always thought of Tom, whose magic was a combination of Lanta’s and his own. After finding out what had happened to that bizarre child he had met at Hogwarts, he couldn’t see Tom doing what had happened to the kid. 

Then again, as Tom was prompt to point out, he wasn’t Voldemort. 

“What is your problem? Each time I call Voldemort Riddle you react like most people when they hear Voldemort,” Narcissa observed.

“It’s weird…to think of him with a normal name.”

“You didn’t think his mother named him Lord, did you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? It’d make sense, with his over inflated ego,” Sirius snorted. “All right, so the scar is leaking magic. What does that mean?”

“It’s leaking Riddle’s magic. It’s shaped like reflected sevens.”

Sirius stared at the file folder in his lap. “The spell to create the hocrux failed because of Lily’s sacrifice, but Riddle’s magic…latched onto Harry’s head?”

“Maybe. I do not know. I don’t even know for sure if Harry’s…a hocrux. If he was one, wouldn’t he be influenced by Riddle’s own piece of soul more?”

“I do not know Harry, so I can’t help you with that,” Sirius grumbled, looking out the window. Muggle London was alive before his eyes. The sky was deep blue and cloudless. The sun shone brightly making the white hospital room glow. Sirius forced his Healers to open the window so he could smell the fresh air, even though he was in the heart of Muggle London, thus it didn’t smell fresh exactly, but it was air.

“He has traits,” Narcissa said. “He speaks Parseltounge.”

Sirius jerked, turning to look at his cousin. She looked grave. And yet he couldn’t resist asking, “Are you serious?”

“Sirius,” Narcissa sighed.

“He speaks…to snakes?” 

Sirius felt ill. 

“He does. He’s also shown a few other traits that neither Lily or James were known for. While I know children are not exact replicas of their parents, Harry is somewhat Slytherin at times.”

“Oh? And what about your boy?”

Narcissa laughed. “I see your point. They are both foolishly brave and yet rather…sly when they wish to be.”

“They are a pair,” Sirius admitted. “I was shocked when I found out they were friends. Though, not as shocked as when I realized there was a Malfoy in Gryffindor.”

Narcissa shrugged. “There was a time it was shocking there was a Black in Gryffindor.” 

Sirius snorted. “True.” 

The pair fell silent. Sirius gathered up the various papers and put them away. He handed the dossier back to Narcissa.

“So, what are we going to do?”

“Nothing. There is nothing we can do,” Narcissa said, trying to hide how helpless she felt. “No one knows how to destroy hocruxes. I haven’t been able to find the answers, nor does anyone alive know.”

Sirius felt his stomach twist. “So, we’ll never be ride of him? He’ll live for ever with his soul split into seven pieces?”

“No. When he returns to a body, we will have to force Harry to grow up,” Narcissa said bitterly, stuffing the folder into her bag. “He can read the book I cannot. I do not want him to read it till he must. I am sure with how vile the book is there will be answers or something in there.”

“Wait, wait. This book, it’s written in Pareseltounge?”

Narcissa nodded. 

Sirius looked away and back out the window. 

Tom could read the book. They would never have to drag Harry into this mess— other than to get the soul out of his head. 

“What are you plotting? I know that look.” 

“Nothing,” Sirius lied, putting an innocent look on his face. “So, is there anything else about this scar of Harry’s.”

Narcissa pressed her lips together. “It hurts if Voldemort is close. Also, Riddle is unable to touch Harry’s skin without causing himself great paint.”

“Really? I’m afraid how you know this.”

“First year,” Narcissa said. “Harry, Draco and Hermione met the…spirit of Voldemort when he stole the body of the Defense professor.”

“He did? And he lived? They lived?”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “Of course they did. They were…rash and idiots to try to take him on themselves, but they lived. It seems each year they get into trouble once the weather turns nice. Always having to do with Voldemort one way or another.”

“Hmmm…hopefully next year will be quiet,” Sirius suggested.

Narcissa gave an unladylike snort. “Not likely.”

“Nay sayer.”

“Git.”

They exchanged amused smiles. 

“Well, as pleasant as this has been, I’m getting tired,” Sirius admitted, feeling the heaviness behind his eyes grow and his limbs get cumbersome. 

“Of course. I’ve dumped a lot of information on you. I’ll bring Harry and Draco tomorrow. I’m sure I can steal Harry away for a few hours.”

“I’d like that,” Sirius said. 

“He is a wonderful boy and is looking forward to getting to know you, Sirius. He’s been full of questions about you,” Narcissa said, looking rather fondly at Sirius. It was strange to have the look directed at him. “I’ve also gotten the house in order for you.”

“What house?”

Narcissa leveled him a look.

“I don’t want to live there! Can’t I get a new house? I’m rich,” Sirius reminded her, grinning. 

Narcissa sighed. “You must live at the house in order to prove your claim on the family. Something about the enchantments to get to your money. It was in the paperwork you signed the other day. You did read it, didn’t you?”

Sirius did not meet Narcissa’s eyes. 

“Well, I redecorated it. It was ghastly and dark,” Narcissa went on after a moment. “Clearly Aunt Walburga didn’t entertain late in life, and no one else cared. After she died, the house went into disrepair.”

“No House Elf to care for it,” Sirius muttered.

“Yes. How did you know? I thought Kreacher was still alive. His head wasn’t mounted on the wall. Nor found in the house.”

“Reggie gave him to Lanta, who likely willed him to…someone.”

“Remus,” Narcissa realized. “She willed him everything she owed upon her death, did she not?”

“I guess. I don’t honestly remember,” Sirius admitted. 

“Well, I got you a House Elf. You have to pay him, but it’s not a lot.”

“What? They get paid these days?”

“Just Dobby. He’s rather…different. He’s a good House Elf, but he enjoys his freedom and wants a wage. I believe I am paying him five sickles and one knut. He also gets one Sunday a month off. Those were his terms. I was willing to pay him more, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He now serves the House of Black.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, feeling too bemused to inquire any further. 

“Draco and I will be staying with you for the summer,” Narcissa announced, fussing with her robes. “Harry will come along after his two weeks are up.” 

“You’re staying with me?”

“You need looking after. The Healers won’t release you if you’re to be on your own. So, Draco and I moved in,” Narcissa went out, brushing imaginary dirt off her shoulder. “The Healers have told me they will be letting you out within a week. The Minister, who is terribly frightened of you and what you might do for being wrongly imprisoned, has requested your presence at the Quidditch World Cup this summer.”

“What?” Sirius asked, ears perking up suddenly. 

Narcissa looked amused. “In order to make up for the wrongs the Ministry has placed upon your head, of course. You’ll attend as his guest. And he said you could bring as many with you as you want. I assumed you’d want to bring Harry and Draco.”

“And that girl. The bushy haired girl. She’s part of their group right? And the other Atlanta.”

“The other— oh, yes. Atlanta,” Narcissa agreed. “I’ll speak to Altair. He doesn’t like her…he doesn’t let her out much since last year. I was surprised he let her attend school this year. I assumed he’d have Remus tutor her full time.”

“Remus…oh. I think he mentioned that at the Shack,” Sirius said, his head feeling muddled. “Or someone did.”

Narcissa hummed. “Well, you look quite confused, so I’ll let rest.”

Narcissa stood, smoothing her robes down. “Oh, by the way, I talked your mother’s portrait off the wall, so she won’t shirk at people as they enter the house. She’s in the attic now conversing with a painting of your brother. I wasn’t aware Regulus had sat for one.”

“I wasn’t either.”

“I will be by tomorrow,” Narcissa said, picking her bag up. “Have a good day, Sirius.”

“Thank, Cissy.”

She smiled softly at him. “Think nothing of it.”

She swept out of the room, leaving Sirius alone with his thoughts.  

His head was crammed with information. He was worried about the state of Harry’s scar, but there really wasn’t much he could do about it. He desperately wanted to contact Tom. Tom could read that book. And while Tom might look like a kid, he was older and had more life experience than Harry. 

And he’d read it, if  not just to satisfy his own curiosity. 

When the Healers brought him his dinner, he requested parchment and an owl. He had two important letters to write: one to Harry informing him the good news about the Quidditch World Cup and another to Tom telling him about the book and inviting him to the house. He had that travel cube. Remus could bring him over. 

And then maybe Remus and Sirius could talk? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends book three. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, the kudos, and reviewing along the way. The third book of Harry Potter is my all time favorite out of the series (the sixth one close behind). 
> 
> I don’t have much planned out for the next four books. Just random scenes written. Due to this fact, it will be awhile till I get around to posting the next installment. I felt rushed with this story, even though I had massive amounts written when I began writing it. When I thought about how much time I spent on the first two (or three, if you count Over the Rainbow), this one I spent the least amount of time on and it was the one I was most excited to write. I do like writing as I post. Sometimes y’all have great ideas that I feel like I’d like to work in, so it’s nice to not be locked in while posting.
> 
> The point is, I’m going to take a break from this series for a wee bit. I just need to get the fourth one written and my Potter muse is being crowded out by other muses who want to get out of my head. And while I’m great at writing two or more things at once, I want to focus on the fourth book and toy around with my ideas before I begin posting. I also want to go back and edit the first three in a more…fine tooth manner. I almost always rewrite things three times before I’m happy. I haven’t done that this time around, so the quality of editing lacks occasionally. While I’m pretty good at correcting things when mentioned to me ASAP, there are a few blanket issues I haven’t corrected because it requires reloads. If I have to reload the whole thing, might as well give it another read through to get the other things I might have missed.


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